


Arachno-Sensation: The Life of a High School Vigilante

by EarlOfLemonsqueeze



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Izuku as a Vigilante, Alternate Universe - Quirks (My Hero Academia), Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Character Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Creative License, Crossover, Hurt Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Marvel Universe, Mentor Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Go to U.A. High School, Minor Violence, My Hero Academia Spoilers, Needles, Overdosing, Slow Burn, Vigilante, Vigilante Midoriya Izuku, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 49,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarlOfLemonsqueeze/pseuds/EarlOfLemonsqueeze
Summary: Izuku Midoriya's life is one of boring mediocrity, a quirkless boy in a superpowered world. But, after a chance meeting with the hero Eraserhead sets him on a different path, Izuku must quickly adapt to his newfound and strange quirk: Arachno-Sensation. Having never met All Might or attended UA Academy, Izuku's drive for heroics sets him down the dangerous path of vigilante work.An AU blending elements of Marvel comics with the BNHA Universe on top of a canon divergence where Izuku never met All Might, Izuku is in for a world of discoveries as he slowly takes on the title of the Spectacular Spider-Man.
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako, Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Midoriya Izuku, Kaminari Denki & Kirishima Eijirou & Uraraka Ochako, Kaminari Denki & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko & Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochako
Comments: 29
Kudos: 235





	1. Enter: Izuku Midoriya

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking a chance on this! I hatched this concept up a while back and finally felt like adapting it for fun. More or less meant to help train myself as a writer. Feel free to leave feedback!

Choking black smoke permeates the air, a black-tipped trail ever-ascending among sparks and debris. Individual glowing embers rise with the heat filled breeze like lanterns, the wandering children of an ever expanding flame. Whatever isn’t aflame lies crumpled under broken concrete and ruined asphalt.

Shattered from a monumental earthquake, survivors pile atop the wreckage as if moth to a flame, desperately sifting through the rubble for others. Worried cries, tearful sobs, and distraught screams pierce through the deafening roar of the blaze. Sirens top off this symphony of sadness, their wails continuing endlessly throughout the night.

“Itsuki, over here! Help me move this pillar!” A gruff middle-aged man exclaims. His face is stained with dried blood and dirt, his nose split at the base of his brow, with a scab already forming as he works. Itsuki, a younger man, scrambles over the rubble, small shards of gray rock tumbling down the mountain of concrete with each step. Peering through the gaps underneath the column, Itsuki and the older man find a pair of eyes looking back at them - teeming with fear and desperation. A hand reaches out from under the rubble, clamoring for aid. Crouching down, next to the broken support pillar, the two men grunt as they attempt to lift the column. Broken rebar protrudes from the column as if bone torn through a leg.

The men grimace as they attempt to lift it.

No result.

Both pause to release exhaustive breaths. The hand below them continues to reach through the gaps, frantically grasping onto any free shard of concrete for support.

After a few moments of hesitation, the men slide their hands under the pillar and attempt once again.

Veins push from their foreheads.

Teeth grind.

Their bodies reek of sweat, grime, and blood.

The pillar lifts, inches from the ground. Itsuki’s arm shakes. The older man grimaces.

His eyes shut, his face scrunching into a tight ball of wrinkles and folds from concentration.

Suddenly, his eyelids pry themselves open.

Dropping the pillar, his face shifts into an expression of shock, his arms giving in from the weight of the column - it's simply far too heavy to lift.

The column lands where it originally fell.

No result. As the older man staggers away in rage, Itsuki leans towards the hand below the pillar, grasping it firmly as they continue to reach out for some form of savior.

The column shakes. 

A small chunk of concrete shifts in place, sliding down the wall of rubble.

The ground as a whole begins to shake.

More and more minuscule pieces of detritus and asphalt tumble to new resting grounds.

Survivors begin to scramble down the summit like cockroaches. Scattering all which ways, the desperate clamor for any hope of protection.

“Aftershock! Everyone, find cover!”

Civilians stampede in their search to find safe ground.

The cacophony of tragedy only grows louder as the cries of the crowd mingle with the throes of the wounded.

Almost as soon as it started, the shaking stops.

Looking to each other, the gathering of civilians turn their eyes to investigate the aftershocks effects.

Instead, they find a lone silhouette, standing tall atop the peak of the rubble, cape billowing behind his shadowed figure.

Seeing this figure, whispers rapidly spread among the crowd.

"A villain? Did he cause this?"

"No, look at his pose, no villain stands like that..."

"If he's a hero he better have something good up his sleeve!"

Motionless, his stance is powerful and dignified. Simply his presence is enough to fill the crowd with hope.

Unbuttoning his cape, the garment slowly trails off to be lost to the wind.

And then,

 _laughter_.

**_HA-HA-HAW!_ **

With a booming voice, the disastrous chorus of suffering is muted by the hearty laugh of this man. Knocked back by the shock of his unwarranted joy, every eye in the crowd is now locked on this mysterious shadow. With a look of confusion, the crowd simply gazes at the silhouette.

Then, in one sudden burst, the shadow is gone.

A massive sonic boom blasts through the air, shaking the crowd to their core as the wind pressure traverses outwards. A trail of dust and rubble sifts through the air as he dashes from a prior standstill. 

Across the piles of rubble and wreckage of destroyed building, each lunge breaks the sound-barrier. With every sub-second movement, the titan digs out another survivor and lays them gently on his back.

One, two, three.

Another eight, nine, ten survivors.

Coupled with every dash, his immense laughter.

**_HA-HA-HAW!_ **

After only three major lunges, the mysterious hero delivers his payload of survivors to the crowd before turning and rushing back into the blazing wreckage.

With record pace, the entire situation has transformed.

Dash, survivor, dash, survivor.

This man faces no setbacks. 

Shock, awe, and then joy slowly spreads across each survivor’s face. Where they had once worked for hours, toiling over cracked rubble to find their loved ones, this mysterious hero has instantly turned the tide.

As a woman fumbles to keep her cracked phone in her hands, the man in front of her exclaims in shock.

“Can you see that? He’s already saved a hundred people! That’s crazy! It hasn’t even been ten minutes! That’s crazy!”

**_A-HA-HA-HAW!_ **

Where once it had been distant and muffled, the hearty laugh grows imminently closer. Reaching it’s peal, the hero steps over the wreckage of a former bus.

“He’s laughing!”

Carrying a dozen more civilians atop both his back and the musculature of his forearms, the unknown hero properly reveals himself to the public.

“ _ **It’s fine now. Why?**_ ”

The man smiles.

“ ** _Because I am here._** ”

Adorned in a red and blue leotard, perfectly displaying his defined and immense musculature, he stands nearly twice that of an average man. Two tall, blonde strands of hair spring from the top of his head, resembling a peace sign.

The image of the powerful hero quickly minimizes into a small, highlighted square on top of a bright blue background as a plain-looking reporter commentates.

An eager-eyed teenager watches the special with a box of tissues by his side, tapping his eyes gingerly. Dressed in an oversized peacoat over an all-black school uniform, the puffiness of his eyes matched with the accompanying bags hint that he’s been up all night. The green mop atop his head pairs stunningly well with his emerald irises and his face-full of freckles gives him a uniquely boyish charm.

The walls of his room are adorned from head to toe with sparkling All-Might posters, twinkling with enough red, white, and blue to give even the most loyal of Yankee's a toothache, and a special shelf is even assembled to collect All-Might's rarest figurines. In the center, the teen’s newly coveted “Limited Edition - All Might Final Fight Deluxe” stands, still in its original box - completely mint.

“And so stood All Might, the greatest hero that ever was. Remembered in this footage of his initial debut, the world remains forever grateful for his sacrifices in the name of peace. This ends tonight’s special on the career of the Symbol of Peace, tune in tomorrow for an exclusive interview with Shinya Kamihara, more famously known as Edgebody, one of the many heroes who witnessed All Might’s last fight. Later today, the memorial vigil for the tragic death of UA Hero Academy stude-“

The television boots off.

Gently placing the remote down atop his blue comforter and using his free-hand to grab himself another tissue, the teenager prepares himself before releasing a particularly devastating wad into the weak paper.

It tears from the force.

Accidentally coating his hands with his own sadness snot, his emerald eyes widen with shock. Dramatically shaking his hands to force the drippings off his palms, the teen reaches for more tissues. At least he would have it wasn't for a knock at the door.

Turning his head with wide eyes, snot dripping from his nose, his lips have upturned into an exaggerated frown. 

“Izuku! We have to head out! Please make sure you’re prepared!” A gentle, reassuring voice chimes through the door.

Izuku’s pupils dance from left to right as he meticulously analyzes his snot-coated palms, searching for a possible plan.

“O-O-Okay Mom! I’ll be right out!” he bleats out while attempting to mask his mucous loaded predicament. Grabbing more tissues, he attempts to coat his hands in the soft paper and wipe them clean. Meeting marginal success, Izuku resorts to wiping the remnants onto the oversized coat.

Waddling off of his bed and towards his desk, he grabs a custom-binded notebook and pushes it neatly into a satchel. Below the notebook, a collection of comic books sits, ranging from American to Japanese print - properly vintage. Throwing the satchel over his shoulder, he steps towards his door.

Opening it, a short figure stands immediately outside of the doorway.

Izuku, without thinking, steps into the hallway and thus directly into his mother. Colliding with his mother, Inko Midoriya, the two tumble onto the ground. Shaking her head to break free from her momentary confusion, the short-statured Inko confusedly finds herself sitting atop her son's back. Dazed but aware, she slowly stands up with support from the wall.

Dressed in a simple black dress and cardigan, her green hair is done up elegantly, despite the recent cowlicks her son has recently introduced. Once again shaking her head, she offers a delicate hand to help her son up.

"Better be more careful next time, Izuku! I've grown more fragile with age! Don't want to risk hurting your mother, do you?" she jokes while helping Izuku up. He blushes as he stumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Checking him from head to toe, she stops upon reaching her sons face. Resting a hand on his face, Inko sighs.

“Oh Izuku… You have to be more careful! Don't want you to turn out like...,” she looks down before finishing her statement.

“I-It’s okay Mom, I’m right here. I’m fine,” Izuku softly says in order to calm his mother.

Looking up at Izuku, she gently smiles. “I know, I know…”, she says as she nods, “but I’m surprised your fathers coat is so big on you. I thought you’d fill it up by now! 16 years old and still so small!” Inko pinches her son’s cheek.

His face flushes red as he blushes.

“I’m not that short!” he exclaims as his mother laughs gleefully.

“Come on, we still have to get going,” she says as she turns around.

* * *

As the Midoriya family car pulls onto the side of the street, its engine sputtering to a stand-still, Izuku steps out of the grey sedan onto a wet sidewalk. The air is thin and misty and grey, overcast skies cast a shadow across the scene.

With a slight sprinkle of rain drizzling from above, Izuku unbuckles an umbrella.

His mother approaches Izuku, tapping the fob on her keys to lock the tiny grey car. Izuku positions the umbrella to mostly cover his mother, his concern evident; a reaction to his mother’s somber expression.

With a tilted head, she steps forward. Her heels click against the slick concrete sidewalk with each step.

Her son follows closely behind, drizzling rain tapping against his shoulders. He walks steadfast through the rain, only mildly flinching, in order to protect his mother and her hair with their umbrella.

Together, the mother-son duo step beyond an ornate archway into a grassy plot.

The two stop, the newest additions to an expansive line leading further into the Musutafu Prefecture Cemetery. Stepping past gravestone after gravestone, Izuku and Inko are left to stand upon reaching their destination.

The dead’s friends and family get the most immediate seating, especially due to the number of people attending the event. Scanning the black gravestone, Izuku bows his head.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Born April 20, 2298. Died February 23, 2314.

An old friend.


	2. Funeral for a Friend

“That’s mean, Kacchan!”

“You’re quirkless! What’ll you do about it?”

“A-Anything I can!”

“So, nothing at all then!”

The bickering of jealous children bounces throughout Izuku’s head. Bickering was the natural state between the two boys, especially during their years in Junior High together.

It didn't used to be that way. 

Things used to be so different.

With Junior High composing most of their relationship in the last few years, Izuku hadn’t seen Kacchan much after he got into UA Hero Academy. While Kacchan blasted his way to the top, Izuku faded into the obscure shadow of the criminally underfunded Japanese public school system. 

“Top of the line”, “One of our best!”, and “A hero that’ll define us”. All things he’d heard about his old friend, even from people on the street. Kacchan's performance in the annual sports festival certainly cemented that thought in most people's minds.

The overcast skies cast their shadow across the somber day, clouds drizzling the concrete metropolis of Tokyo with their tears. Izuku’s oversized coat grows heavier with each drop, only accentuating the burdens he already carried.

Waves of memories crash against the sides of his skull, a flood of the past leaking into his mind.

It seems like only yesterda he and Kacchan would explore the seemingly massive forests together.

A sea of brown and green, tall trunks reaching to the heavens. The two boys squeezing through the gaps between the trees together.

Catching frogs and letting them slip through their fingers. Slipping nets over cicada's and the occasional butterfly. Stomping through puddles on their way to their next adventure.

A childhood together. 

Sharing crayons in kindergarten before eventually arguing over who got the blue one. The occasional playdate where Izuku always loved to display his ever growing All Might toy collection. Conceiving of their escapades as heroes.

Together.

It all felt so recent.

Ever since Kacchan’s quirk had developed, his brash personality was only emboldened. Gifted with one of the best quirks many had seen, Kacchan quickly excelled. Quirkless and left behind in a society of superheroes, the jealousy Izuku held was only a natural byproduct he had reasoned.

Even then, the admiration Midoriya carried for his childhood friend seemed exorbitant for a boy that picked on him relentlessly. Despite it all, Izuku knew Kacchan had to like him somehow, even if only a minuscule amount.

“The Alpha always needs an Omega to cement his role as number one”, a concept that Izuku settled on long ago. In a way, despite being Omega, he was just happy to be brought along. He was included, something he had rarely encountered from others since.

Regardless, Kacchan was an impressive hero, especially for one in training. Winner of the U.A. Sports Festival, against Endeavor’s son nonetheless. And a proud intern of Best Jeanist? - at least that's what Kacchan's mother told Izuku.

All things Izuku could only long for - trapped in the life of a quirkless teen is one of boring modernity. More teens his age enroll in hero school than public school, only the deadbeats, downtrodden, and quirkless apply to an average high school these days.

Based off the number of student heroes and teachers present at his funeral, this fact became even more evident to Izuku.

They had met a few times since Kacchan had gotten into UA. Mostly when Inko would go to visit Kacchan’s mother to have tea and gossip. His mother always had something to boast about, and yet, Kacchan would always rebuff her, as if his accomplishments were nothing in the grand scheme of things. Even with all this success, Kacchan was still the same kid Izuku had grown up with.

The same boy that splashed puddles on rainy days with his bright red boots.

The same boy that Izuku gladly assisted when he needed help using scissors in kindergarten.

The same boy that Izuku always aspired to be.

And here he was.

Destined for the grave.

As these thoughts rail against Izuku’s mind, he realized how tightly this fist had been clenched.

The sweat dripping from his palms blends with the rain.

Snapping back to reality, Izuku's gaze turns to the ever-expanding gathering of supporters. The crowd had grown exceptionally large, even more so than when Midoriya and his mother first arrived.

There must be hundreds, maybe even a thousand people here to commemorate Kacchan.

“I didn’t know Katsuki was so… popular,” Inko chimes in.

“Yeah, me neither,” Izuku admits while scanning the crowd, looking for familiar faces.

Many unknown, a few recognizable low-rate heroes, an occasional childhood teacher. A few professional heroes catch Izuku’s eye - Kamui Woods, Gang Orca, even Thirteen! At least, these are the recognizable heroes. Adorned in their professional outfits, the professionals pay their respects to a fallen hero accordingly. 

Scanning past the known heroes, Izuku tries to match faces with names.

Squinting, nothing comes up.

No one Izuku personally knows.

Wait.

Izuku squints.

Upon further inspection: a familiar face.

Not one he recognizes in-person, but one he’s seen on TV.

Directly across from him: a student from UA, one of the semi-finalists at the UA Sports Festival. Surrounded by a clear, bubble umbrella, she stands to the left of who he presumes to be her parents.

“It’s a shame really, the villains are getting bolder these days. First, that psycho attacked Ingenium and his brother, and now this? Might have to change your curfew…” Inko butts in. Izuku briefly loses focus, momentarily distracted at the concept of going to bed at 9:30 instead of his valiantly fought for 10:00.

He regains his composure and refocuses on the UA student. 

Her face is familiar.

_A unique quirk?_

_What was so notable about her?_

She stares down at the ground, eyes welled with tears. Her cheeks seems extraordinarily pink, almost unusually so, but not from makeup or sadness, just as if... As if that was just her face?

With short brunette hair and what appears to be auburn eyes, Izuku is entranced by her presence. Her bobbed hair drapes her head gently, swaying with every slight movement.

 _Who are you?_

_You seem so familiar..._

Around her, a collection of different teenagers.

To her left, a muscular teenaged boy with sharp red hair. He rests his hand gently on her shoulder.

_Seems to be whispering._

Behind him, a slender blonde boy, taller than the prickly redhead. Leaning forward, his frizzy hair stands on end from the humidity of the rain. 

_Both of them were also in the sports festival, right?_

Further down the line, Endeavor and his son. Unmistakable, their bright red hair helps them stand out from the crowd. His son stares at the ground, standing straight as a rod. 

Almost as if he was...

_Uncomfortable._

Scanning the line of heroes, Izuku can’t stop looking at the other teenagers, and especially can’t stop looking at _her_.

“They’re all heroes,” a raspy voice says to Izuku.

Turning to his left, a tall pale man. His chin bears evidence of a half-assed attempt at a shave and his long black hair is tied into a sopping wet ponytail. His blindingly white skin seemingly mixes with the mist that permeates the air.

The black suit he’s wearing is wrinkled to kingdom come – it hadn’t been worn for an extensive amount of time, and even then, it’s barely ever been used in the first place. Without an umbrella, the man stands through the pelting rain without a single flinch.

Izuku looks at the man with a questioning gaze.

“I saw you inspecting them all. An observant eye need not study what should be self-evident,” he comments.

He looks down at Izuku.

With piercing red eyes, the bulging blood vessels reveal just how tired this man is. The extensive bags under his crimson irises confirm his exhaustion.

Something about him also seems familiar to Izuku, even if vaguely.

His presence _discomforts_ Midoriya. His gaze, even if fleeting, twists the teenagers stomach.

_And who could this be?_

“U-Uh. Thank you for that. I thought they were. One of them looks like…" the gears within Izuku's factory of a mind grind into action.

"Oh! Uravity! The girl who could change gravity!” Izuku’s eyes widen with knowing excitement.

For a second, he forgets he’s at a funeral for his friend. For a second, he’s at a Hero Convention. The scornful gazes of those around him in reaction to his excitement brings him back down to Earth.

Izuku shifts his eyes to look at the young student again.

Her pink face is suddenly so clear and exceptionally familiar.

She fought Kacchan at the Sports Festival during the initial matches at the start of the finals. 

She lost, a stunning defeat. 

_Talk about an underdog._

She pulls tissues from a small purse to wipe away her tears. A small collection of roses sits in her left arm. More of these “young heroes” stand around her, hands on her shoulder and back. 

The pale man's presence besides Izuku continues to eat away at his nerves.

Something about him just makes Izuku so...

_Tense._

He stares blankly ahead, watching the crowd conglomerate. Water dripping against his tired face.

His lack of reaction unnerves Izuku.

“Oh, Uravity you say? Is that that hero girl you had a crush on?” Inko inquires, raising a finger to her chin.

Izuku blushes. 

_I-It's no-Wasn't a crush! She's just!_

_So cool!!_

“Didn’t she fight Kacchan?” Inko questions to herself.

Izuku is much too focused on the man to his left to dignify that question with a response.

The stranger looks over at Izuku and inspects him from head to toe.

Izuku notices but vainly attempts to play it cool, stiffening up from head to toe.

The strangers gaze makes the hair on his neck stand up. He turns back to look at the event.

Izuku notices that his gaze similarly follows the young heroes.

_What a creep…_

The funeral procession begins and those nearest to the grave take their seats. Izuku, his mother, and the stranger stand among the ocean of people. As the priest begins the procession, he turns towards the crowd with a prepared speech.

“I appreciate all that could make it out today. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero. Nobody here would deny this. Be it fellow student, professional hero, or civilian bystander, we all know the heroic role this young man played in these recent, tragic events. Instrumental in the success of good over evil, All Might over All for One, Katsuki sacrificed himself in the name of a greater good that every hero across the world could only hope to do. His actions directly led to the destruction of the evil known as the League of Villains. But in doing so, he leaves behind so many who will miss him gravely.”

Izuku inspects the reactions of the stranger.

He stares ahead, refusing to budge. His ponytail drips from the rain.

Water drips down his pale face. His face displays zero emotion.

His gaze could cut down even the strongest of men.

“From his mother and father, to his class of fellow heroes who fought for his safe return. Grappling from such a heavy loss, there is no doubt in my mind that those here are likely to believe that the villains our society fights so hard to put down are winning, even with the League's destruction. ‘This young man would still be here’, ‘How could this have happened?’, or ‘What have we failed to do?’ are all things I’ve been asked.”

Piercing red eyes.

Gazing at the students across from him.

Izuku can’t take his eyes off of the Stranger.

But somehow, the atmosphere is _different_. This man isn’t a creeper...

_Just who are you?_

“No, this young man’s sacrifice symbolizes our strength. The spirit Katsuki carried is one of indomitable determination, an endeavor to inspire and an unstoppable need to be there for others. Those who feel his loss strongest know he carried all of these beliefs in life. And to that end, we lay to rest the Greatest Hero we have seen, for only due to Katsuki’s actions could the Symbol of Peace and our society of heroes triumph. For this, we have much to celebrate and much to mourn. Shall we never forget the actions of Katsuki Bakugo and let his name ring out forever as the Symbol of Heroism. Thank you.”

The priest moves on, now reciting prayers from a sutra.

Incense is burnt.

Each visitor has brought their own stick of incense to burn. Inko pulls two from her purse, one for Izuku and one for her. As the crowd begins to move towards the final processes of the funeral, close friends and family leave flowers in front of the headstone.

Uravity steps forward before Katsuki’s parents, resting roses gently in front of the black-marble stone.

As the congregation moves forward, Izuku and his mother trail behind the stranger.

Taller than most, and followed by an increasingly soaked ponytail, tracking the man is far from difficult. Funneling towards the front of the event, the Stranger reaches into his coat and pulls out a stick of incense. Lighting it and placing it in one of the many glass bowls, he lingers for a second, fingertips against the rim of the glass bowl.

Peering directly at the headstone, the stranger utters a few silent words before moving on.

Izuku steps forward.

Looking ahead, before him is the large obsidian obelisk with Kacchan’s name carved ornately into the stone. From now on, this stone is all that remains of his childhood friend. Stopping in his tracks, Izuku finds it difficult to look directly at the headstone, as if it was staring disdainfully at him.

For having failed.

Izuku sheepishly gazes upwards before lighting his incense stick and gently placing it inside a glass bowl.

“S-Sorry, Kacchan.”

The incense sticks burn slightly before the gentle drizzle of the rain douses their sparks. A slight trail of smoke ascends upwards.


	3. Post-Mortem

As the procession comes to a close, the mass gathering proceeds to go their separate ways. Behind them, the collection of incense before Katsuki's grave sparks and sizzles under the drizzle of the rain, the smoke split and divided by individual drops. Their final flickers put out before they can properly burn.

Lost potential.

The time for mourning had ended. For the gathering, it's time for life to carry on.

Lost within the crowd of funeral goers, Izuku and his mother attempt to find a way out from this labyrinth. Navigating the narrow passageways between people, the mother and son duo stumble and stutter as formal coats, black dresses, and blazers bump into them. Ahead of them, the pale stranger that had caught Izuku's attention.

Individual raindrops break Izuku's gaze, his face scrunching up and flinching.

_I... I have to know who he is._

Izuku's gaze, despite the unceasing onslaught of rain, remains focused on the strangers lithe figure. Compared to most visitors, his lean build and tall stature paired with his now-signature drenched ponytail helps him stand out from a crowd.

As the Stranger slithers his way through the gaps in the crowd, Izuku tightens his grip on his mother's hand. Attempting to part the Red Sea of people, Izuku tries to blend force with politeness, using repeated statements of "Excuse Me", "Pardon Us", and "Sorry About That" in order to excuse his pushes.

"Izuku, what's the rush? Your grip is rather tight..." Inko protests as she's dragged along by her son.

Refusing to let the Stranger escape from his grasp, Izuku proceeds forward, the rain practically steaming against Izuku's face. His determination is palpable.

The Stranger takes a step to his left, behind a large gathering of people, briefly escaping from Izuku's gaze.

Reaching a fork in the crowd, Izuku turns his head in desperation.

_Surely he couldn't have left?_

_He's a pro, has to be! But who? Edgeshot? No... His hair isn't black like that. Kesagiriman?_

The Stranger's familiarity refuses to escape Midoriya's mind.

Izuku makes an executive decision for the duo and takes the path to the left.

As the walls of people begin to close in on the mother-son duo, Izuku continues to drag Inko through the sea of black suits.

A few more steps and they'll be free of the choking grasp of mourning.

_Just like Indiana Jones! We can make it, we're almost there..._

_A few more steps..._

Sliding through the gaps with a grimace, Izuku and his mother step out from the crushing grips of suits and ties. Emerging into a deeper section of the cemetery than before, Inko stops for a breather.

"Oh... Izuku... I appreciate the determination but... my body isn't as spry as yours... I think we took the wrong turn to get out anyways," Inko gasps out, hand on her chest.

Izuku inspects the area and finds that they've walked in a circle, having pushed their way back into the center of the funeral.

In front of Izuku, Kacchan's family and friends are all gathered, discussing memories, future plans, and where they'll go now.

A distance away, Izuku also notes the bobbing, black ponytail obscured behind a smaller gathering of people.

_There you are._

Leaning forward, Izuku attempts to confirm his belief and identify the Stranger. Just a bit more forward... A little bit more...

_Just a teensy bit..._

"Oh, hello. Did you know Katsuki?" A soft voice chimes in.

Turning to address the voice, Izuku cocks his head and finds... Uravity!

Standing before him, purse over her shoulder, in a black overcoat, she inspects Izuku, searching for possible connections. Her eyes are soft and puffy, cheeks red. She's clearly been crying.

Making eye contact, Izuku blushes, both out of bashfulness and embarrassment for being found while snooping around a man he's never met. At Kacchan's funeral nonetheless.

Attempting to downplay his own embarrassment, Izuku looks away briefly, unable to match her gaze.

Inko, noticing the two teenagers interacting, steps forward.

Placing a hand on her sons back, she plants herself next to him.

"Oh yes, we're good friends with the family. My little Izuku and Katsuki were good friends back during their primary school days. Practically inseparable, the two of them," Inko confidently replies for her hapless son. Izuku's freckles flush red; matched with his green hair, he looks more like a strawberry than a teenager.

Uravity, producing a faint smile, similarly turns her head, but instead to inspect Katsuki's dug grave.

She softly chuckles to herself, eyes locked on the headstone.

"That's wonderful. Thank you two for coming then. I imagine Katsuki's mother would like to see you two then?" Uravity turns to address Inko.

"Surely! Her and I haven't been able to talk much since we heard the news of what happened... We used to visit each other regularly, especially when the two of them were younger," Inko gladly replies, shining a kind smile before briefly turning her eyes downwards when discussing Katsuki's death.

Leaning forward to catch Izuku's attention, Uravity smiles.

"Thank you for giving Katsuki company when he was younger. I've probably heard all about you and haven't even realized! What's your name if I may ask?" She asks, cheeks as pink as ever.

Izuku, barely pushing through his own bashfulness, practically snaps his neck in order to look at the young hero.

"Izu-Izuku Midoriya. Katsuki...", he stops to consider his next few words. Turning his glance to her soft, red cheeks and warm, auburn eyes, Izuku can see her pain.

_I mean, if Kacchan was to ever talk about me... He wouldn't have called me Izuku..._

Struggling to maintain eye contact, Izuku stomachs his embarrassment and returns a soft expression. "Odds are, if K-Katsuki referred to me, it would be with my nickname. H-He used to call me D-Deku," he stutters out with a bashful smile.

Hearing this, at first she chuckles, "That's pretty cute! Little Katsuki running around calling you Deku! Kind of a weird nickname, isn't it?" Izuku blushes at the word _cute_ , but the red flushes away at the final comment.

"W-We had a unique relationship, Kacchan and I," Izuku rushes out, clenching his fist as the thoughts pile drive their way into his mind.

Uravity's glance changes from one of friendliness to emotional shock.

"You used to call him Kacchan?" She puts a hand up to her chin.

_Wait... Ah crap! I must have slipped!_

"Y-y-yeah," Izuku sheepishly admits, his face practically burning.

"That was my-my nickname for him..." Izuku admits, forcing his head downwards, too shy to reveal his face.

Hearing this, small tears begin to bubble from the sides of her eyes.

Izuku looks at her with a expression of concern, "O-Oh no! A-Are you okay? I'm sorry! I must have said some-something brash!"

Wiping away the tears with her wrists, she chuckles to herself.

"It's okay. Just an emotional day," she wipes the final tear away with a curled index finger, "I used to call him that too," she gladly admits. A small smile shines its way through her tears.

Her smile breaks through some of the sadness of the day. A ray of sunshine on a literally cloudy day.

Izuku's expression softens.

"How did you know him?" He asks gently.

She shifts her glance, focusing onto something in the distance.

"I'm his girlfriend," she replies.

"I mean... I was... was his girl-girlfriend," she stumbles out.

Teardrops well on the sides of her eyes.

Inko opens her mouth slightly before resting her hand on the girls shoulder. The tears begin to stream from her face, dropping from her chin.

Izuku is visibly shocked.

_Kacchan's girlfriend?_

Memories of _that_ day flood into Izuku's mind. The news coverage, the chaos, the fear.

_"Terror in Kamino Ward". "Hostage Crisis Gone Wrong". "Dozens Dead"._

Inko receiving the call from Katsuki's mother. The tears.

_What has she been through?_

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," Inko steps forward, pulling the girl in for a hug. Rubbing her hand up and down the girls back, Uravity softly sobs into Inko's shoulder.

Izuku has no clue what to do.

Stiff as a board, Izuku can barely move a muscle while watching the scene.

"You ever need anything, we can help. Such a sad circumstance to meet you, but we're here for you, don't worry," Inko murmurs into her ear.

Izuku cranes his neck to look away from the scene, desperately trying to avoid tears of his own.

He's not used to so much emotion. He has zero idea how to process it all.

No one does.

As he turns his head however, from the corner of his eye, he spots the Stranger.

Before a crowd of professional heroes, the man trades glances with different heroes. His gaze seems vacant. Empty.

A cigarette sparks in his lip, the Stranger taking occasional breaks from conversation to puff the smoke away from his confidants faces.

Next to him, a blonde man with long, slicked back hair and a pair of aviators. With a hand planted on the Strangers shoulder, aviators seems to be trying to talk some sense into him.

The conversation picks up in pace as the Stranger rolls his eyes at the heroes in front of him.

_It's devolving into an argument._

As Izuku inspects the Stranger's growing conflict, Uravity remains in the arms of his mother.

Fascinated, Izuku is oblivious to an approaching ambush.

From behind, the blonde teenager with brown streaks in his hair and the teen with sharp, red hair approach Izuku.

"Did you happen to know Katsuki?" the blonde inquires.

Jolting his head to answer the question, Izuku practically jumps out of his outfit in fear.

_Woah!_

"Sorry for the _sudden_ interruption," the red-head glares at the blonde sternly, "but based off Ochaco's reaction, we imagined you did," he clarifies.

The two teenagers glare at each other playfully before Blondie smirks at Redhead with a raised eyebrow. Redhead punches him in the arm, scoffing.

Izuku's emerald eyes dart between the two, confused at the scene playing out before him.

_Wait... Aren't these two student heroes? They were in the crowd._

_Why do they want to talk to me?_

Turning to Izuku and smirking, Blondie introduces himself with an open hand, "I'm Denki Kaminari and this is Kirishima," gesturing to his shark-toothed friend.

"We're friends of Ochaco and Katsuki's. How'd you know him?" Kirishima elaborates.

_Made yourself an interesting group of friends, didn't you Kacchan._

Izuku shakes hands with Denki sheepishly before turning to address Kirishima.

Denki, without breaking eye contact, shakes his now empty hand vigorously in order to rid it of Midoriya's nervous sweat.

"We were... childhood friends. Spent lots of time during Primary School and Junior High together," Izuku explains. Scratching the back of his head, Izuku is a tad overwhelmed.

He's not used to being the source of so much attention.

"Oh cool! We never heard much of his childhood, just about whatever he wanted to gloat about. Would love to hear some stories sometime," Kirishima enthusiastically states.

Kaminari rolls his eyes, "Yeah, talk about gloating! Dude would never shut up about how much better he was than us!" Kirishima turns his glance back to Kaminari, "Dude! Think about where we are next time before speaking, okay?"

Kaminari scoffs.

Memories of Kacchan sparks into Izuku's mind.

His sharp-toothed smile. The burning sting of his quirk against Izuku's arms. Having to defend himself against Kacchan's troupe of bullies.

How despite all of his treatment, it was hard not to respect his drive.

"Yeah. We were great friends," Izuku continues.

Denki turns to Kirishima, "Hear that numbskull? Sounds like you had competition," he says with a smile.

"Sounds like you didn't really get to meet Ochaco, based on her current state..." Kirishima considers, glancing at Uraraka still being clutched in Inko's arms. Slowly being helped up with Inko's hand on her back, she at least seems to be recovering.

"That's Ochaco Uraraka. Katsuki's girlfriend. She'll be fine, trust me, just needs time to grieve," Denki explains, pointing a thumb behind him to Ochaco.

"Tough girl, you'd be surprised. Had her heart ripped out too many times, that's for sure," Denki continues. Kirishima lets out a sigh, knowing the truth of that statement.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Kirishima concludes the discussion of Ochaco's heartache with.

Awkwardly standing between the two student hero's conversation, Izuku turns his head to inspect the Stranger's whereabouts. Noticing the Stranger leaving the crowd, the pale man flicks a spent cigarette from his hands onto the grass. As he steps away from the crowd, Izuku feels something in his gut.

 _Follow him_.

"We were thinking of organizing a get together after this if you'd like to come along. Just a few of us, mostly to relax after a day like this," Denki offers.

Kirishima nods, "Yeah, I'll be there. So will Ochaco," he elaborates.

Watching the Stranger get farther and farther from his line of sight, Izuku grows impatient.

"Y-yeah... yeah that sounds... fun," Izuku says without thinking, "Would you guys mind if I take... a bit of a leave?" He mindlessly asks.

"O-Oh sure, whatever you need!" Kirishima replies.

Before he can finish his statement, Izuku books it out of there.

"Well, he's a weird one," Denki states, hand falling to his side.

Kirishima looks at him and shrugs.


	4. Rigor Mortis

_Who are you?_

The question bounces around Izuku’s mind as he dashes through the crowd of suits, his inner desire to learn of the Stranger's identity consuming his every thought. His stomach twists and unravels as his thoughts multiply, his inner urge driving him unlike anything he’s felt before.

Izuku knows who he is, he’s sure of it.

_Somehow..._

And to let him leave? To slip out of Izuku's grasp so quickly? Even the concept is devastating.

Izuku needs to know, even if he isn't sure as to why. He just can’t let this chance pass by him.

His nice pair of shined, leather shoes have lost their shimmer, his feet having continuously planted themselves firmly in the wet dirt. Grass tears up with each step, mud staining against the blacken leather.

Stomping his way after the Stranger, Izuku's behavior is far from suitable for a funeral - one for his friend nonetheless - but Izuku is far from caring about etiquette.

At this point, the Strangers identity is all that matters.

And Izuku is grasping for reasons why.

Something inside him, something obscured and hidden, tells him so.

An inner determination rarely seen.

_I have to find him._

Leaving Uravity, his mother, and the duo of vibrant haired teenagers far behind him, Izuku searches for his White Whale: the tall, pale man.

The pardon me's and excuse us’s from earlier are now non existent, lost to the pursuit.

All that matters now is the chase.

Slipping his way past the remnant gatherings of mourners, Izuku's stomping dash draws the attention of all he passes. Looks of scorn and disgust turn towards him, both from average citizens and pro-heroes alike.

_How dare he desecrate such an event._

Izuku is unfazed. 

He's lived his whole life accustomed to such reactions. Why would they stop him now?

Carving a path towards the outer reaches of the cemetery, Izuku escapes the glares of most of the funeral goers.

Keeping his eyes locked on the Stranger, Izuku meets his final roadblock: An especially dense crowd of suits and ties, all exiting from the plaza. 

Dashing forward and squirming underneath and between the elbows, shoulder-pads, and knee's of the crowd, Izuku blasts through the congregate as if a drill.

Pushing his way through the final crowd, Izuku finds his awaited answer: The opening archway to the cemetery.

Stumbling to a sudden standstill, Izuku hops on one foot as his balance recoups, the toe of his raised leg skipping against the muddy terrain in an attempt to handbrake himself. Stopping just before the archway, Izuku can make out the bare silhouette of the man just behind the ornate masonry

He's found him.

Confidently goose-stepping past the archway, Izuku awkwardly approaches the Stranger.

_Now all I need to do is..._

The thoughts fly into one ear and promptly out of the other.

_Wait._

_What do I have to do?_

_Why did I do_ _this?_

Leaning against the ornate stone, the Stranger stands alone, puffing a thin cigarette. His wrinkled shirt presses against his wet skin, the coat across his back heavy with the rain. 

Drizzling rain continues to pitter against the slick, concrete asphalt. 

Despite the torrent of water, his cigarette remains lit, closely guarded by the Strangers bony knobs he calls fingers.

Both Izuku and the Stranger's hair lay flat against their clammy foreheads, soaked by the unrelenting rain. Izuku is frozen in place upon seeing the man up close. His burning urge to chase after the Stranger leaves him in an instant.

Now, it just seems far too overwhelming.

To just head back and face the wrath of his mother and the scorn of the student heroes seems far more preferable.

As Izuku considers his options, the Stranger speaks, the same course, raspy voice choking its way into Izuku's ears, with his back turned towards Izuku, “I know you’re there. You’re not exactly stealthy, trudging your way through a public funeral like that.”

The man turns to address Izuku, sliding the cigarette in-between his index and middle finger. Smoke sizzles from his nostrils, his face slightly obscured by whatever inky hair isn't pulled back into the dripping ponytail.

Peaking out from the shadowy blots of his hair, the man's crimson gaze shakes Izuku to his core.

”I-I-I...” Izuku attempts to stutter out an explanation for his unruly behavior.

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to the dead,” the man continues cynically. He takes another puff from the cigarette, blowing smoke up into the air.

The rain splits and tears the grey smoketrail.

Watching the smoke tear and part from the drizzle, the man turns his eyeline back towards the overwhelmed teenager before him.

"All we can do at this rate," he croaks out.

Izuku is stunned.

The man’s presence carries the same level of pleasantness as a skinned cat.

Without even a movement of the eyes, Izuku can feel the Stranger's gaze tearing through every shred of dignity inside the teenager. Searching, analyzing, spotting each of his insecurities. 

“I... think... I-I,” Izuku attempts once again.

“Think you know me?” The Stranger connects the pieces of Izuku’s broken puzzle. Another puff. The rain continues to shred through the smoketrail.   
  
“Get that a lot. I’m not one for public appearances,” the Stranger looks to his side, "I imagine you saw how that last one went", he bitterly estimates. His demeanor and character reflect that of an old, grizzled man. 

Cynicism personified.

Izuku inspects his face closer. A thick scar under his right eye... The cogs begin to work, the machine is back in order.

Izuku realizes who he’s talking to.

_Hates public appearances, scar under right eye, professional hero._

”E-Eraserhead. You’re Erase-E-Eraserhead,” Izuku stumbles out. Of all pro-heroes to meet, Izuku never imagined it would be the Eraserhead.

Puffing a long drag of his cigarette, Eraserhead turns towards Izuku, exhaling through his nose. His crimson gaze unenthusiastically peers at Izuku with half-opened eyes, and yet, the boy still feels his glance could curdle milk.

“Looks like you’ve figured out my big secret. Want an autograph?” 

“No, sir. I mean, yes, I wouldn't be opposed, but... but no.”

_Smooth, Izuku, smooth._

“Look, kid, I didn’t come here to be _Eraserhead_ , I came here to...” he stumbles in his sentence, ceasing in his tracks.

Visibly distressed, he paces three steps to his right before puffing from his cigarette again. At this point, he’s just smoking the ashes of the butt.

“I came here to... remember...” he stops in his tracks.

He looks at Izuku, and for a brief moment, the teenager witnesses a chink in the hero’s armor.

A moment of vulnerability.

With a somber expression on his face, Eraserhead glares over Izuku’s shoulder. To the crowd of funeral goers, to Uravity and her family, to the students, to the grave of Katsuki. And here he is, outside, smoking a cigarette and talking to some kid.

He looks back down and takes another puff of ashes.

The smoke has long left the cigarette. Put out by the rain while he was distracted.  
  
He drops it and looks back at Izuku.

“So, what do you want?”

Izuku stands awkwardly.

“F-Frankly sir, I didn’t think... I didn’t think I’d get this far,” the teenager admits. The hero groans under his breath and places a palm on his forehead, pinching the brow between his exhausted eyes.

“Well, in that case, I have somewhere to be,” the hero groans out in exasperation. Turning his back to the teenager, he starts to walk away.

Watching Eraserhead walk away from him awakens something fierce in Izuku, as if there was a reason for him to be here. 

There is something to be done. He knows it. He chased after Eraserhead for too long, dragged his mother through the mud, and drew the ire of a crowd of people, but deep down, he knew he had to be here. 

As the jaded hero leaves Izuku’s presence, his stomach stirs into knots. Tears welt up in his emerald eyes.

_Do not waste this moment, not like everything else._

A final thought stirs in Izuku’s mind.

_What would Kacchan have done?_

Sending Izuku into overdrive, he mindlessly belts out a question for the hero, his voice cracking between words. 

“Could someone quirkless like me be a hero? All my life I’ve wanted to be a hero. To save people. Can someone like me be looked up to? Like people do to you?”   
  
Eraserhead stops upon hearing the question.

Rain drizzles against the ground, providing the only semblance of sound. Water drips down his face, trailing like tears to the ground.  
  
Izuku stands in shock.

_Did I really just ask that? That stupid question? What will he say?_

_Am I an idiot?_

Eraserhead slowly turns, a seemingly herculean task.

His pace quickens with each step as he approaches the teen.

Eraserhead’s wet hair slowly slips out of its ponytail with each dramatic step.

Inches away from the teenager, he pushes his index finger against Izuku’s shoulder, a crazed look in his eyes.

”No,” he cruelly hisses out.

Izuku is taken back by his response, the shock trailing through his body, as if struck by lightning. And then, the gravity of Eraserhead’s response hits him.   
  
With his index finger still firmly planted against the teen’s shoulder, Eraserhead looks down at his hand and then at Izuku’s reaction.

Witnessing the pain in the boy's eyes, Eraserhead pulls his hand back. Mouth slightly agape, he twists his head as he looks from his hand to Izuku’s eyes.

His bony hand begins to shake. Raindrops drip from his pale hands.

Throwing his hands into his pockets, Eraserhead suddenly and quickly walks away from Izuku.

His footsteps are loud against the wet pavement.

With tears in his eyes and shocked from the “hero”s ferocity, Izuku can only stand and watch Eraserhead leave. 

Like every day of his life, he is powerless to act.

The drizzling rain drowns the final sparks of the abandoned cigarette butt.


	5. Enter: Shouta Aizawa

Eraserhead.

_What a stupid name._

_Shouta Aizawa, that’s my name_ , the hero thinks to himself. 

With long strides, he marches his way down the slick urban streets of labyrinthine Musufatu. The thin ghostly mist that had permeated the air during the funeral continues to slither through the asphalt pathways, coiling its ghostly grasp around people's ankles as they walk.

His hands remain firmly planted in his coats heavy pockets, shaking and shivering from the shock of his own answer. His hair continues to drip from the rain, his ponytail having long separated to form one sloppy blob of tangled, damp strands.

Strangers step out of his way as he trounces his way back from the funeral. The rain is unceasing, pounding against umbrella and bare head alike, substantially heavier than the light drizzle of an hour before.

_I should have slapped Yamada years ago for conceiving such a stupid name. And myself for that matter! How dare I agree to such an idea!_

Aizawa grumbles to himself, droplets trailing from his ghastly pale visage. His grim demeanor, harsh glance, and phantasmic presence turns heads as he makes his way through the city. Strangers chatter among themselves as he passes by, judging his behavior with questions like, _"What's wrong with that guy?", "Is he a hero? Doesn't seem like it."_ or the ever present, _"Don't I know that guy?"_

_A quirkless hero? Is the kid suicidal? Literally attending the funeral of someone his age and he has the gall to ask such a mindless question._

_Absolute idiot._

Aizawa continues to conceive of reasons to justify his outburst, presenting every possible argument he can. Yet, for every reason and every excuse, the feeling in his stomach fails to pass.

It just.

Won’t.

Leave.   
  
Pity? Sadness? God forbid, _compassion_?

Aizawa tries to shake the feelings from his gut.

_Kid should see what I deal with nightly._

How horrid people can truly be. Anyone who did would turn and run. Hero applications would cease then and there. But no, all they see is All Might taking a final stand and coming out on top.

All they see is what the news wants them to see, the glitz, glamour, and glory of heroism. Never the gore, gloom, or gashes. 

Nonstop information on the "Hero Narrative", of endless triumph and success, convincing anyone they can be a hero. No doubt the constant media spin convinces people like that kid to pursue heroism.

Even _that_ day the media refused to call it quits. 

Dozens dead, hundreds injured, and billions in property damage.

 _Nothing heroic about being a hero_ , Aizawa thinks to himself.

That day continues to haunt him.

The day Katsuki Bakugo died.   
  
As the rain continues to pelt his cranium, Aizawa passes a newspaper stand in front of a coffee shop, its windows foggy from the cold exterior and warm inside. A bell rings with each opening and closing of the door as citizens seek refuge from the onslaught of precipitation.

Attached to the wall, under a canopy, a rack of newspapers are laid out against the wall, with the furthest issues soaked to the very bottom with rain. Unreadable, the ink of these issues have bled down to the final page.

Bored and searching for respite from his endless thoughts, he grabs a dry issue from the back. He's always much preferred paperback to the servitude of technology. Untraceable.   
  
The headline catches his eye:

**QUIRK ENHANCERS ON THE STREET?**

Civilians on the street pass by the hero, glancing at him with the sides of their eyes. Some step out of their way to avoid him, keeping their eyes locked on the shady man.

Not caring, Aizawa opens the paper, stopping to read in the middle of the walkway, more focused on his intrigue to the top story than the concerns of bystanders on the street.   
  
_”Scientists have long wondered regarding the source of Quirks and their catalysts, especially concerning their possible consequences on human physiology. A team of American researches believe they’ve answered the question, identifying a series of mutations within multiple genes. In a particularly engaging study, these same scientists, Dr. Abraham Erskine and Dr. Bruce Banner, introduced a series of genetic mutations using CRISPR into a chosen quirkless applicant from the United States Armed Forces, in the hopes of witnessing a similar series of mutations. The results were astounding, with the patient exhibiting a powerful quirk that amplified his own physical abilities tenfold. With this data, multiple scientists are working to see if an applicable “Quirk Producer” can be applied to quirkless individuals, but ethical concerns are plenty after the chaos seen in Kamino Ward, which resulted in the retirement of All Might and the death of 33 civilians, an unknown number of villains, and 1 student hero.”_

Closing the newspaper, Aizawa stares ahead briefly, deep in thought. 

_A quirk producer? Could be a more advanced strain of..._

Aizawa's thoughts bat around his clouded mind, interrupted by other rogue concepts.

_1 student hero._

_Student._

Aizawa shakes his head, furrowing his brows in an attempt to refocus his mind.

_A more advanced strain of Trigger. I'll have to find my files, re-open the investigation. Maybe talk to..._

As he grumbles to himself of a possible plan, Aizawa mindlessly stares into his reflection in the coffee shop window. The image is fogged and blurry, distorted by the constantly changing temperature.

His distinctive, crimson gaze is blurred. Their striking red image reminiscent of another pair of red eyes he had come to know.

Staring back at him, Katsuki Bakugo's muted, burning eyes glare into Aizawa's soul. 

Turning his head to avoid the image, Aizawa tries to step away from the reflection to focus his fuzzy mind.

No success. Katsuki, and how Aizawa failed him, is the only thing on his mind.   
  
How he could have saved his student, in fact, how he should have. How, although often misguided, Katsuki was on a path to greatness. A path that’ll never be fulfilled. 

As Aizawa turns away from the reflection, he steps directly into a bystander's path. Bumping shoulders, Aizawa is jolted back to reality by the sudden shock, his bloodshot gaze focused once again.

“Get out of the way! Idiot...” the man scoffs as he walks away. Brushing off his shoulder with a glare, Aizawa stands on the side of the walkway. Other civilians give him passing glances, a mix of scorn, disgust, and concern for his lack of social etiquette.

This is the society he fights so “valiantly” for?

His mind races back to _that_ day.   
  
The day Katsuki Bakugo died.

A coalition of heroes had been sent, led by the legendary All Might, instructed to save Aizawa’s student. To nullify the threat of the League of Villains. To end their reign of terror once and for all.

 _Look where we are now._  
  
And yet where was the heroic “Eraserhead”? Where did the Hero Association place the instructor of Katsuki Bakugo, the man who oversaw his education and growth? 

Back at UA, to relay information to the police.

Kicked to the sidelines, kept out of action.

And yet here, despite his quirk, despite how “Eraserhead” could have completely declawed the might of All for One, how the greatest villain of this generation would be powerless if his infamous quirk had been rendered null, they left “Eraserhead” out of combat.

There'd be no enhancement, no power ups, no stealing of quirks. Just one glare and All for One is powerless. Nothing but a respirator attached to a broken body.

But no. A conflict of interests would prevent "Eraserhead" from fulfilling his duties. The danger was "simply too high".

And now, the Symbol of Peace is gone, Kamino Ward is devastated, and Katsuki Bakugo is dead. 

To top it all off, who did the Hero Association task with notifying the Bakugo family? 

All Might had been too wounded in his climactic fight to have any breath left in him, Endeavor is ironically "too cold". 

No, they sent "Eraserhead", a hero they had kept back from the fray into their house, under their roof, to tell them that their son was dead. To bring them to the morgue. 

To identify what was _left_ of him.

Aizawa continues his odyssey back home, eyes burning from exhaustion.

The image of Katsuki Bakugo begins to blur with that of the emerald-eyed kid. Practically the antithesis of Katsuki. 

Timid, green-eyed, and freckled from head to toe. Remarkably different from his past student. 

And yet he carried a similar... _je ne sai quo._

Perhaps he had been too harsh to that kid.

But... he could never risk it. He wouldn’t let another kid face the same fate as Katsuki Bakugo, not another bodybag. He’s seen too much strife come from it.

His class had felt so empty without him, without his brash, loud voice and constant insults. He was loud, annoying, and frankly far too arrogant. But... It did liven up the class.

Ochaco stayed home that week. Can’t blame her. After Tenya, she only had Bakugo. What a strange compliment the two were, she cooled his jets down more than Aizawa had seen with any other duo. Reduced the lion to a mouse. 

_Can't imagine her pain._

How cruel the world has been to poor old “Eraserhead”. Soon, his cynicism might bleed into his students. He had been trying his best the last few weeks to remain hopeful for them. 

Oh, how he had failed them.

_What kind of bastards purposefully aim at children in order to strike at men?_

Aizawa stops in his tracks. The rain trickles down the back of his coat, from his hair, down his face. The feeling of cold droplets dripping down his back returns him to the land of the living.

He reaches into his inner coat pocket and pops out a pack of cigarettes, sliding a new one out.

He didn’t use to smoke.

This one’s new. 

Holding a hand over his lighter, Aizawa looks up to the skies while puffing his smoke.

_Rain’s fitting for such a drab day._

He coughs from the smoke. Still getting used to it.

_Was I too harsh on the kid?_

He just wants to be a hero, to help, to do what Aizawa had always wanted.

At his age, Aizawa was the same way. Hell, if quirk enhancers do become public, maybe he’ll finally have a chance.

Maybe... 

Aizawa zones out as he steps forward, head slouched, cigarette in mouth. His lengthy stride occasionally colliding with a localized puddle, sending even more droplets crashing through the air.

His mouth tastes of burnt ash.

He chews on cigarette butts when stressed.

He's been chewing on a lot of cigarette butts recently.   
  
_Perhaps I should turn around and talk to the kid again, give him a little hope._

But...  
What if, if Aizawa did give him hope, who's to say that kid wouldn't be in the same place as Katsuki? In his own way, during his own path to heroism, perhaps he’ll end up in the same place. 

The same place as the day Katsuki Bakugo died.

Inside a black body bag, killed by a world that hurts everyone around Shouta Aizawa. 

_No_ , he thinks, _it’s better if I didn’t go back._

 _How long have I been out?_ Aizawa wonders, turning to inspect his new surroundings.

Looking around, the sky had long gone dark, his path now illuminated by the bright neon pinks, blues, and yellows of Japan.

His mouth no longer tastes of ash.

The cigarette’s long gone out.

Dropping the expended butt to the ground, Aizawa steps into the nearest alleyway. Inspecting his surroundings, making sure he hasn't been followed, he lets out a sigh of relief. Slipping a pair of slitted golden goggles out from under his coat, he places them over his eyes.

A slithering, silver tendril of cloth slips out from Aizawa’s overcoat. Pulling the bulky coat off of his back, the slithering mass of cloth wraps itself around his thin body.

Propelling himself into the air using the cloth wrapped around his body, he prepares for another night as Eraserhead instead of Shouta Aizawa. 

He always preferred the night anyways. 


	6. Beyond the Veil

Stumbling his way back through the now mostly abandoned cemetery, past headstone and obelisk, roses and tulips left behind for those lost, Izuku searches for his mother in a stunned daze. As if entranced, Izuku's mind has transformed into Eraserhead's personal echo-chamber, with each ring of his cruel _“No”_ reverberating louder than the last. Like a dagger twisting in his guts, every echo sends another wave of stinging pain through his body.

Tears stream down the poor boy’s face, dripping past his freckled cheeks and off of his chin to become ever mixed with the rain.

Just another drop of sadness among the resting place of the dead. Just another tear from Izuku Midoriya. 

Izuku’s fragile mind spits horrid thought after horrid thought right back at the teenager, emboldened by Eraserheads outburst.

_You’d never make it anyways._

_Why are you even here?_

_Kacchan’s grave should be yours, not his._

_You're nothing more than a walking failure._

And worst of all,

_What would Kacchan say?_

Hidden behind tombstones, the silhouette of his mother breaks over the horizon, one part of a larger crowd. The remnants from the funeral – close friends and family to Katsuki. Everyone else had already left. 

All Izuku wants is to be with his mother, to have her reassure him like she used to - for him to be a child and forget all about this cruel world that seems to hate him so. This cruel, terrible world where fate is determined before birth, where genetics reign as king and Izuku its puny pawn.

Perhaps, in another time, in another place, he could change the rules of this game. But for now, all that remains is Eraserhead's words, Kacchan's grave, and the world around him.

No escape.

As Izuku approaches the gathering, the faces of the crowd continue to blur together, their details becoming lost in the shapes of the others, his tears smudging their images.

No one but his mother matters now. No one else cared about him anyways. The only other person who did is now nothing but a headstone among dozens.

Dragging his feet through the wet grass and mud, Izuku staggers towards his mother, as if a child taking his first steps. Distracted by deep conversation with Katsuki's mother, Inko stands in her friend's shadow, dwarfed by her tall stature.

Hearing his stomping approach, she turns to find her son, her expression transforming from one of somber concern to disciplined rage, her eyebrows furrowing as she steps forward. Hand on her hip, Inko approaches her son, failing to notice the tears trailing down his face. 

“Izuku Midoriya! How dare you run off during a time like this to-“ Inko’s scolding is interrupted by Izuku throwing his arms around her neck.

Pulling his mother’s head into the crook of his neck, Izuku sobs heavily.

_None of it matters._

_Ground me later, take my All Might figures, do whatever. But now, please just hold me._

The memories flare throughout his mind again. The childhood he used to have, before any of this quirk nonsense.

When he believed he could do anything with Katsuki by his side. How the two would plan out their path to heroism together. With rocket ships, dinosaurs, and a space-faring voyage to save a long lost princess. All Might guiding them on their quest, his glorious presence filling in all the gaps Izuku felt.

Oh the woes of childhood.

How childish Izuku feels now, broken by the words of a two-bit _hack_.

Katsuki's face flashes in Izuku's mind. His spiky, blonde hair. His red eyes that reflected the golden light of the sun. His determined smile, always curled upwards into a feisty smirk.

All gone.

And in Katsuki's place? A failure. A coward, unable to act. No quirk, nothing worthwhile. If only Izuku had something, some power, maybe then he could have saved Kacchan. If only...

“K-Ka-Kacchan… I failed him, I fail-fa-failed him,’ he sobs into his mothers' shoulder.

Shocked by her son’s sudden appearance, Inko’s hands remain raised for a few seconds before it begins to click. Gently placing her hands on his back, she soothes her son. Katsuki’s friends and family slowly shift their focus from their conversation to witness the moment between mother and son.

“I ca-can never b-b-be like him. I fail-failed. K-Kacchan…” he mutters to himself, tears streaming. Stumbling to his knees, head against his mother’s stomach, Izuku’s sobs grow heavier. Clutching her son’s green hair, Inko gently sits down next to him. Pulling his head into her lap, she runs a hand through his hair.

A barrage of images, thoughts, and harsh words flash throughout the young boys mind. 

_Hold your failure of a son. Your son that is doomed for mediocrity. A son doomed to disappoint. A quirkless boy. How cruel a twist of fate can be._

As his mother holds him, Izuku looks up from the tears. As the drops stream along his freckled face, he leers at Katsuki’s headstone. With a sorrowed expression, Izuku can’t hold his gaze on his friend’s grave.

Gasping through the tears, he chokes out a final phrase.

“For-F-Forgive me, Kacchan.”

Inko looks down in tear-filled sorrow. She had only seen her son like this once before – when he learned he was quirkless.

Her eyes begin to bubble.

Clutching her son, tears drop from seeing him reduced to such a point. Listening to his mother sob only drives Izuku further into tears.

Rain falls.

Mother and son embrace.

Ochaco watches from a distance, Denki and Kirishima standing next to her.

Denki can’t bear to watch the scene and turns, pacing a few steps away. Remaining by Ochaco’s side, Kirishima watches with an expression of concern. Eventually, it grows to be too much even for him, as he stops to pinch the bridge of his nose with his hand in order to obscure his vision.

Despite her companions’ reactions, Ochaco watches with intrigue, sparked by Izuku’s emotional response.

_Who was Katsuki to him anyways?_

Helping Izuku to his feet, Inko waves to Katsuki’s mother. Placing her arm around his back, she walks her son for a few paces before he regains his composure, his feet wobbling with each step.

Wiping his face free of tears, Izuku takes a moment to collect himself. As the two go to leave the cemetery, Izuku takes one fleeting glance at Katsuki’s grave and the crowd standing around it.

Choking back a final sob, he nods at Kacchan's grave.

"Bye, Kacchan."

Turning his head from his final glance at the headstone, Izuku’s eye snags on a familiar figure.

Alone and looking directly at Izuku, Ochaco peers at him from within the cemetery. Expressing a sense of curiosity and intrigue as she glances at Midoriya, her short bobbed hair billows in the cold breeze of the rainy day, umbrella in one hand. 

Izuku, with his rain-soaked hair and puffy eyes, is caught in a moment of mutual curiosity with Ochaco. 

The two gaze directly into each other, both pondering the other.

 _What did they mean to Katsuki?_ both consider.

His mother’s voice cuts through the moment, “Come along, Izuku!”

Shaking his head, Izuku turns around and heads to the grey sedan.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds Ochaco chuckling softly as Denki and Kirishima approach her. The three seem to be heading out as well.

 _What was that?_ he thinks to himself. 

Stepping into the sedan, Izuku buckles himself into the passenger seat as Inko starts the car. The sedan starts up and pulls out into the street, rain trickling against the window shield with a distinctive pitter-patter.

Izuku wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“Well, that was a pleasant service,” Inko chimes in.

Smooth jazz softly plays over the radio. Izuku’s favorite.

Gently resting his head against the cold and foggy window, Izuku lets out a soft sigh.

_It’s been a day alright._

_Drifting off into a pleasant sleep sounds perfect right about now..._

His eyelids growing heavy, the cold air and soft jazz lulls him into a slow, drifting sleep.

“So, how about all of those heroes! Wow! That must have been something to see, right, Izuku?” his mom suddenly inquires.

His tired eyes crack open, exhausted from the emotions of the day.

“Y-Yeah, they were…”, images of Eraserhead’s outburst flash into Izuku’s mind.

“They were something alright," Izuku exasperatedly states before thunking his head against the window again.

“Everything okay? I know today was… emotional, to say the least, but are you okay? You seem to be especially hard-hit,” Inko asks.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” Izuku lies.

“Well, don’t get too tired, you still have somewhere to be!” Inko jokes.

Turning his head from the window, Izuku throws a confused expression to his mother, his eyebrows furrowed.

Inko nods, "Oh, don't give me that look! You agreed to it!"

Slowly sitting up, Izuku turns towards his mother with a look of even-greater confusion, “Where?”

Inko turns to him with a jovial smile on her face, “Remember those student heroes you met?”

Izuku’s eyes widen.

_The after-party he agreed too right before he met Eraserhead._

_Oh no._

Today is far from over.


	7. Joy

Evening.

Rain falls in a gentle drizzle, plinking against roofs and sidewalk alike. Street lamps illuminate the cold, grey concrete with a pleasant yellow warmth, their radiance refracted by the falling drops. Typical houses line the streets, each being so similar to the next that their presence is ubiquitous.

Average homes in average suburbia.

Inko’s grey sedan slowly navigates the labyrinth of houses, her headlights forging the path forward. The treads of her tires audibly skim across the wet asphalt, the drizzle leaving harmless drops on the surface of her windshield for only a second before being obliterated by the swipe of a window-wiper.

Inside the car, Izuku sits, arms crossed, head resting against the window.

“Oh, come on, Izuku, it’ll be fun. It’s what you need after a day like this, trust me,” Inko speaks in an attempt to egg her son on.

No response.

_Rather unlike Izuku, frankly. Usually he’s excited to meet new people, even with his awkwardness._

_Katsuki really meant more to him than I first thought…_

Izuku rests, his eyes half open in a vaguely frustrated expression. Eraserhead’s words refuse to quiet down within his own head.

“They’re mourning, just like you. It would be rude to turn them down now. Besides, you get to spend time with… almost… registered… heroes! Not exactly heroes yet, I suppose, but close!” Inko again tries to cheer up her son.

Smooth jazz continues to play over the radio.

Izuku refuses to move a muscle. She’s going to have to play dirty to coax her son to interact.

“But don’t you want to spend at least a little time with Uravity? Maybe she can teach you a few things about being a hero! And how about those boys? Dicky? A-and… Frankly I didn’t get the redhead’s name,” Inko chuckles to herself, lost within her own words.

“Regardless, maybe they can give you a recommendation and help you get into UA!” Inko happily blabbers on. She knows it’s impossible at this rate, but any shot at getting Izuku to react is worth the effort.

Izuku leans forward and turns up the volume of the radio.

 _Oh, I see how it is,_ she thinks to herself. _How **very** unlike him._

The sedan pulls up to the curb of the street.

“We’re here!” Inko enthusiastically cheers, ecstatic for this awkward encounter to hopefully come to a quick end.

Izuku gazes out the foggy window and sees yet another average, suburban house. Orange light peeks out from the windows and onto the house's gray exterior, the only color stemming from the otherwise drab home.

“D-Do I really have to go?” Izuku turns to her, nervousness evident by his quaking voice.

“Now, I know you’ve just met them, but it never hurts to give people a shot. Your emotions are getting to you, nothing will help more than making a few new friends,” Inko smiles at him. Reaching in for a hug, Inko affirms her son with her warmth.

“Now go out there and show them what a real hero looks like!” she smiles at him, her grin beaming with enthusiasm and energy. Izuku’s mood lightens, even if just a tad, in reaction to her energy.

Pushing the door open, Izuku steps onto the sidewalk. Compared to the heat of the car, the air outside is practically freezing and especially harsh, the drizzling rain only reinforcing the damp, steely cold cutting through the air.

Clutching his left arm with his right, his legs feel like jelly. Izuku’s no socialite but he can handle himself in conversation. Theoretically.

But to go to a party of heroes?

The walkway leading to the patio of the house stretches for what feels like dozens of miles before Izuku ever reaches the front stairway. 

Stopping at the base of the stairway to the front door of the house, Izuku stops, his breath manifesting in the cold air as a foggy will-o-wisp.

_Maybe this is too much?_

He only met these people today, and even then, he barely paid attention to them! No way they’re in a good enough mood to put up with him. Even in a good mood, most don’t appreciate Izuku’s company. Maybe it is best to head back now, his apartment isn’t far – fifteen-minute walk, straight-shot.

 _They don’t want to see me_ , he reasons.

_No one ever does._

Hesitating, he starts to turn around.

**_Ka-Chunk._ **

Izuku turns his head. A sound at the front door.

Light trickles out from the inside of the house, throwing yellow light against Izuku.

Standing in the doorway: Denki Kaminari.

A tall teenager of slender build, Denki holds his coat over his shoulder, his white shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Throwing a dramatic pose, Denki stands, eyes locked on Izuku.

“We’ve been waiting for you. We heard the car roll up and felt you deserved a warm welcome! Come on in!" Denki bows with a hand behind his back, the coat falling to the floor. His other arm is raised in a gesture of invitation, his gaze turned away from Izuku for emphasis.

"Welcome to my humble abode!"

Izuku stands, confused and flustered.

 _One hell of a welcome_.

He’s never been invited in such a way.

As Denki stands there, waiting for Izuku to head up the steps and enter his house, Izuku remains in place, wide eyed.

Denki lifts his head.

“So… Are you coming in? I can’t hold this pose forever.”

Izuku jumps, “O-Oh! Oh, sorry about that. I wasn’t sure,” he sheepishly heads up the stairs and enters the opening doorway.

Denki returns to a normal position and places his hand out for a welcoming handshake. Izuku grasps it softly.

“Seems like you had a tough time today but don’t worry, we all did. Please, come in. There’s a few more inside but for now, it’s just you and I. Here, I’ll show you around, newbie!” Denki says with a cheerful smirk.

Leading Izuku into the house, Denki kindly leads him around. Simply being around Denki reassures Izuku, helping him speak with more confidence. His enthusiasm is electric.

The living room is simple but modern, with a humongous flat screen TV and a substantial film collection on a shelf next to it. A pastiche fur rug lay between the TV and the leather couch before it, a coffee table resting atop the monumental rug. Gleaming with garnish, the hardwood floor sparkles in the light, most definitely requiring a regular cleaning to react so luminously.

“I’m an avid film collector, you name it, I got it. Everything you’d ever want to watch!” Denki confidently asserts.

“Go ahead kid, take a gander,” he coolly smirks, raising a blonde eyebrow to Izuku. 

Denki is clearly over-exerting himself to come off as the coolest teenager possible. To more aware subjects, this would be clear.

To Izuku, Denki practically sparkles in the lamplight.

Izuku’s eyes light up, “Oh! Do you have ‘All Might’s Legendary Conquest’? I’ve always been meaning to see it but the discs were recalled. Only a couple hundred remain.”

Denki smiles. His stark-white teeth could be mistaken for a blizzard.

Izuku’s eyes widen, “No. There’s no way.”

Denki turns around and points with one arm for Izuku to head towards the collection. As Izuku takes the lead, Denki walks towards the collection. Having Izuku stand to the side, Denki reads through the titles of each film, brushing a finger against each individual boxset as he passes them by.

“All Might Returns”, “All Might: First Strike”, “Destroy All Heroes”, “All Might Versus Mecha-Might”, “The Terror of Mecha-Might”.

Ah.

Denki carefully slides a finger on top of a box and slides it off of the shelf. Keeping the cover hidden towards his chest, Denki raises both eyebrows at a rapid pace, teasing Izuku.

Izuku gulps in excitement.

Flipping the box, Izuku’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping in shock.

All Might, dashing towards the viewer, clutching a small infant with horns against a dark backdrop, moon in the top right corner. The title, emblazoned across the top in reflective holographic print: “All Might’s Legendary Conquest”.

Denki leans in towards Izuku, “You can hold it.” Izuku turns his head, still in shock at the DVD’s physical existence.

Offering his hands, Izuku delicately grasps the box. It’s light, made of shoddy plastic.

 _It’s perfect_.

Looking up to Denki, Izuku finds the slender teen leaning against his DVD shelf, nodding.

“My Uncle used to work at a Blockbuster,” he confidently states as if that was anything of merit.

“ _COOL!_ ” Izuku squeaks out.

To their left, footsteps can be heard stomping down the stairway to the second floor. Kirishima, the redhead, emerges from the stairway. His buttoned white shirt is also rolled up to his elbows, coat missing.

“Knew you were still down here!” he confidently belts out. His expression is eager, his eyes filled with an eager and wholesome form of excitement, very different from Denki's enthusiasm to appear cool to at least someone.

Denki turns towards him with an enraged expression on his face, “What are you, some kinda rhinoceros? I have told **YOU** so **MANY** times **NOT** to **STOMP** down those stairs! You’ll anger my dad walkin’ around like that!”  
  
Izuku remains too entranced by his long awaited meeting with _All Might's Legendary Conquest_ to pay the scene before him any mind. 

“Hey! Izuku! Glad you could make it! We were worried you’d be a no show, we wanted to talk to you!” Kirishima smiles, planting his course hand on the freckled teen's shoulder. Upon impact, his emerald eyes are shaken from their trance, returning to the land of the corporeal.

Shaking his head in order to figure out just where he is, Kirishima's words flow into Izuku's mind, giving him an idea of what they had previously been discussing.

“R-Really?” Izuku stutters out, bashful, his freckles flaring with a flush of pink.

“Hell yeah man!” Kirishima oozes with enthusiasm and excitement.

Gently slapping Izuku on the arm, he addresses him again, “We know it’s been a sad day but hey, Bakugo would be pissed if we cried about him too much. We just wanted to get a few people together to be here for Ochaco, ya know?”

Izuku nods, a reaction more than satisfactory for the chivalrous Kirishima. 

Denki turns to Izuku, the three boys assembled into a triangle, “Alright, I’ll have to take that back from you now.” He holds a hand out for the rare DVD in Izuku's hands. The fanboy casts a savage glare at Denki, as if in mere moments, he'd snap his blonde friends hand off in one clean bite.

Izuku’s grip momentarily tightens, unwilling to relinquish the unique treasure, but after a few weak pulls by Denki, gives in and allows its owner to take it back.

“Hey, you never know, maybe you can come back soon and finally see it,” Denki smiles awkwardly, a half-assed smirk spreading across his face.

Izuku almost falls into cardiac arrest at the thought.

“We should probably head upstairs, Ochaco’s waiting for us,” Kirishima interrupts. Denki takes the lead, gently stepping up the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

“And while we're on our way upstairs, I'll take this time remind you _both_ that we can walk SOFTLY up the stairs. Ya gotta be gentle on these, they’re authentic ebony-crafted teakwood,” Denki snaps out.

As they head up the stairs, Kirishima looks back at Izuku, “So, do you prefer to be called Izuku? Or should we use something else?” he asks with a smile, his words bubbling with Kirishima's own breed of compassion.

“I mean, most people call me Izuku. Bakugo used to call me Deku though as some kind of insult,” Izuku bashfully admits.

Kirishima raises an eyebrow with intrigue and turns his eye upwards to Denki.

“Aw, that's no fun! I like the sound of it already! Hear that, Kaminari? Sounds like we have a Deku!” Kirishima confidently declares.

Izuku blushes, his face having gone red so many times by this point that the color lingers.

"Glad you could admit something like that, I trust you already," Denki sneers, finding Izuku's willingness to expose such a fact mildly strange.

The triage of teenage boys reach the second floor.

An open door directly across from the stairway lets the sound of smooth jazz trickle into the hall. A gentle saxophone pairs with a rhythmic drum, harmonizing to forge a sweet tune behind a haunting set of vocals.

Opening the door, Denki leans in before letting the other two in.

“You good?” he asks, waiting for a response.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Ochaco’s soft voice answers back. With this answer, Denki pushes the door open and lets Kirishima and Izuku into the room.

Hearing Ochaco’s voice, Izuku is filled with a sense of dread. Not counting the funeral before hand, Izuku had never really talked to a girl before, let alone try and become friends with one. And now, going into a room with her and... _hanging out?_

Perhaps this was too much for him to handle, maybe it’s time to head back...

Noticing his reservations, Kirishima puts his hand on Izuku’s back.

“Come on, you’ll be fine! She doesn’t bite,” he says as he gleams a smile at Izuku. For the first time, Izuku notices just how sharp his teeth are... Were they always like that?   
  
Gently pushed forward, Izuku enters the room, not necessarily by choice. 

Vibrant and filled to the brim with knickknacks of all kinds, from collectible figurines of All Might and Ultraman to even American media like Star Wars, Denki’s room is packed with an overstimulating amount of goods. Skateboards lean against walls, a cardboard cut-out of Michael Jackson sits in the corner, and a shelf is assembled collecting a variety of hats of all kinds. License plates are pinned to the wall from places ranging from the next town over to London and Chicago. A dartboard dangles from the wall, the closest dart being firmly implanted in the wall next to it.

In the center of the room, Ochaco lay on the floor, skimming through a magazine, still wearing the black dress she wore at the funeral. Denki’s record player skims across a vinyl next to her, the slip for Tatsuro Yamashita's SPACY next to her. A box of vinyls sits atop Kaminari’s desk, the records already scoured through. 

Kirishima walks over to a deflated bean bag and comfortably plops himself down on it, sinking deeply into the shapeless gray cushion. Denki steps over his friend and crashes down onto the bed. Izuku stands at the doorway awkwardly.

“Find a spot, get comfy!” Kirishima chimes out, continuing to sink deeper down into the cushion, his face progressively obscured by the bean bag.

Izuku steps into the room and heads to a nearby corner, sitting down neatly, crisscross applesauce. Analyzing the triage of friends and how comfortable they are just… _existing_ with each other. Thoughts bubble in Izuku’s mind – how he’s never had this, how he’s so often been excluded, everyone’s last pick.

Ochaco looks up at Izuku as he takes his seat with round, inquisitive eyes. Ochaco locks eyes with Izuku, her cheeks still as pink as they were at the funeral. That same connection from earlier lingers as the two look into each other, a quiet form of communication.

“Deku, right?” she asks, eyes wide.

Caught off track, Izuku shakes his head in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Your name, it’s Deku right? What you told me when we first met?” She asks in a soft tone of voice. 

Izuku 's eyes briefly widen, sparked with realization. She's mixing up his name for the nickname he mentioned earlier at the funeral. 

“Yep, that’s his name!” Denki chimes in.

Izuku looks up with an expression of confusion, squinting his eyes at his new friend. Denki winks at him before gesturing to stay quiet with his index finger. Izuku’s eyes briefly widen with understanding, then turns subtly towards Ochaco.

“Yep! The name’s Deku. Sorry, I’m… uh… hard of hearing?” He winces as he attempts to lie to the girl. Ochaco catches on to his strange expression.

“Are you joking?” she asks.

“No no, his hard of hearing means he has a hard time recognizing tone. He might sound like he’s asking questions when he doesn’t mean to. He explained it to me downstairs, ain’t that right, Deku!” Denki spitballs out.

“Y-Yeah!” Izuku exclaims, ecstatic to be included in a joke.

Kirishima sits up from the bean bag, “Woah! Is that so? I thought your name was Izuku?” He asks, the joke flying completely over his spiky red hair. He sinks further down into the bean bag, despite his herculean effort to remain upright.

“Yeah, weren’t you paying attention Kirishima?” Denki chides his friend.

Ochaco looks between her two companions, genuinely curious, “So then where did Izuku come from?”

Denki sits there, silent for a few moments, unsure of a suitable response.

“It’s a nickname, Katsuki used to call me that,” Izuku asserts.

All three turn to look at him. The air is momentarily tense for saying his name.

Kirishima slowly deflates further into the beanbag.

Denki smiles.

 _Good one, kid!_ He considers to himself.

“Well, if you say so,” Kirishima accepts the explanation. Ochaco remains skeptical.

“Katsuki called you Izuku? How old were you two when you met?” she inquires.

“Four,” Izuku immediately replies.

“Four-year-old Katsuki dubbed you Izuku?” She genuinely asks, eyes wide, finger pressed against her chin.

“He was always very intelligent, preferred the sound of Izuku over Deku,” Izuku replies.

“Sounds like our Katsuki,” Kirishima reaffirms, nodding to himself with eyes closed.

 _He’s not the brightest_ , Izuku thinks to himself.

"Well, I prefer the name Deku. It's kind of cute!"

Izuku blushes, attempting to hide his expression. 

_Should I be insulted?_

"That's what I said!" Kirishima chimes in. 

Ochaco and Denki look at their friend.

"What? I did." Kirishima defends himself with.

Turning to Izuku, Ochaco goes to ask a question.

“So, you knew Katsuki since you were four, Deku?” Ochaco curiously asks.

“Mhm, we met in kindergarten, before his quirk surfaced. We also used to live close together until his family moved further into the prefecture when we were in Junior High,” Izuku relays.

"What was he like? Can't imagine a four year old Katsuki, the guy was probably gnawing on his own leg!" Denki inquires. Kirishima chuckles at his comment.

Izuku stops to consider his wording.

“Brash but always a strong leader, he’d lead our little gang on adventures. Very curious too, he was always fascinated by the world around him. I remember one time he chased after a handful of toads because he wanted to see how they croaked, that is, until he fell into the pond after they hopped out of his hands. After his quirk surfaced, he became even more reckless but brave. Ran head first into any situation,” Izuku explains.

The three all nod.

“Sounds like Katsuki alright,” Denki agrees.

“You knew him best Ochaco, what would you say?” Kirishima asks.

Ochaco stops skimming her magazine.

"Um..."

Tapping the magazine, it begins to slowly float away from her.

“Well, what Deku said is all true! But… He was such a little softie. Like a hard candy with a soft inside. So protective! You all remember when he fought that kid in 1-B for looking at me weird,” she considers.

“Speaking of people giving weird looks, anybody else think Mina’s been eyeing me up lately?” Denki asks. “Can’t blame her, talk about a hotshot choice in boytoy am I right?” Denki states as he strokes his own ego.

“Mina? You? **_HEHEHE!_** ” Ochaco attempts to hold in her laughter behind the palm of her hand. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean!”

“You’d have a better shot with an angry bear!”

“Maybe Mina is my angry bear!”

“Hey don’t worry bro, you can get her! I read this one article where male bears have to subdue the female to prove his worth! Try and beat her in a fight and see if that works!” Kirishima proudly exhibits his own knowledge on bear mating rituals.

“That is not at all how that works!” Ochaco replies.

“It worked for Katsuki when courting you,” Denki snidely replies with a snarky tone of voice.

Ochaco flushes bright red.

“ ** _THAT IS NOT APPLICABLE”_**

Izuku happily watches this trio of newfound friends’ bicker, simply happy to be here.

Maybe Mom was right, it was good he decided to stay out tonight.


	8. Tarantula

It’s been hours now and the conversation has yet to die down. The excited banter of teenagers echoes throughout the house, the occasional yell or scream throwing itself out further than the rest, bouncing off the preposterously cared-for hardwood.

As the quartet carries their conversation into the night, Izuku’s experiencing something he’s yet to feel in years: Warmth. Beyond the care offered by his mother, Izuku has been left in the cold for so long.

The constant harassment of classmates, former friends, and even strangers in the street made Izuku feel like his own personally-crafted fortress of solitude.

His icy, awkward demeanor has melted, warmed up through the compassion and concern of Katsuki’s friends. Denki’s over the top charm, Kirishima’s unbreakable enthusiasm, and Ochaco’s endless compassion.

The Holy Trinity.

Behind blushed cheeks, Izuku chuckles out a hearty laugh as Ochaco demonstrates her quirk - through one Denki Kaminari.

After making a particularly raunchy joke, Ochaco kindly graced Denki with a friendly slap across the face, sending her blonde friend floating from his own bed. As the blonde floats upwards, disoriented and confused, he bumped continuously into the ceiling, jerkily clawing through the air in a desperate attempt to get down. His movements, not unlike the bouncing of the famous DVD logo atop its familiar black background, only sparked more laughter.

 ** _“GET ME DOWN NOW! YOU KNOW I DON’T LIKE HEIGHTS!”_** he exclaims with a riotous scream, swinging his arms in his best attempt to swim through the air.

Ochaco taps her fingers together, giggling as her friend plummets towards his bed. Crashing onto his mattress, a leopard print blanket and accompanying pillows spring off the bed and into the space that Denki once occupied.

Sitting up dramatically, as if a meerkat searching for a trespassing hyena, Denki jerks his head towards Ochaco, leopard print blanket slowly descending over him.

Underneath the fabric, he screeches out a warning.

 ** _“DO NOT BREAK MY BED, AND ESPECIALLY NOT BEFORE WE HAVE TO MOVE INTO THE DORMS,”_** his shrill voice commands from under his leopard-print disguise. While Denki struggles to break free from his spotted containment, Ochaco rolls her eyes and playfully sticks her tongue out at him. Kirishima, still sunk deep into the bean bag, skims through the magazine Ochaco had previously been reading.

As Izuku chuckles to Denki's valiant scrambles to break free from his leopard-print prison, Kirishima turns to address his new, freckled-faced friend.

“So, Deku, if you don't mind me asking, what’s your quirk?” the redhead asks with his characteristic shark-toothed grin.

Izuku freezes.

_Oh crap._

Looking over, Ochaco's curious auburn eyes practically burns a hole into Izuku's fragile exterior, “Yeah, how did we happen to forget such an important question? Katsuki never mentioned any friends from his childhood with any noteworthy quirks…”

Denki finally climbs free of his feline confine.

“Incorrect. Remember that one kid he talked about? With the weird extendable fingers?”

“Oh, right. _Yuck,_ ” Ochaco sticks her tongue out in reaction to such a quirk.

“Are you extendafinger?” Kirishima asks, eyes wide with intrigue.

Izuku remains frozen in place, despite his friends' momentary distraction, his muscles as stiff as an iceberg.

“Well…” Izuku stops to think.

_Should I be honest? I can’t have them disappointed in me too…_

Denki looks at Izuku with a sleazy expression, “Oh this kid is 100% extendafinger.”

“Oh! Oh no! So sorry for making fun of your quirk...” Ochaco apologizes, her face flush with a deeper shade of pink than usual. Her eyes trail to the floor, avoiding Izuku's eye-line. 

_Awkward or disgusted?_ Izuku wonders.

“No, no it’s not that… You see, I… I,” Izuku stops to consider what he’ll say next. Kirishima leans forward from the bean bag, his every movement audibly shuffling the cushion so much that anyone in a fifteen-foot radius could make it out.

Izuku freezes up.

He can’t do it.

 _I can’t disappoint them too_.

Ochaco looks back up from the floor, her eyes gleaming with concern.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell us, quirks are deeply personal after all. Maybe another time,” she says with a tender smile.

Izuku nods, swallowing back tears.

“S-Sorry everyone,” he apologizes.

Hearing this, Denki waves it off with a hand, “I didn’t tell my parents about my quirk after it developed for two months. Well… I also didn’t want to tell them I found out by jabbing forks into electric sockets, but that’s a separate deal. We all understand, don’t worry!”

“Yeah man! I didn’t even know I had my quirk! I simply went into the bathroom one night and when I went to scratch my forehead, blood dripped down my face! Gave myself my first scar!” Kirishima spits out in his booming voice.

“Regardless,” Ochaco snaps out at her _extremely_ intelligent friends, “Take as much time as you need Deku, none of us want to rush you,” she kindly adds on.

Izuku feels tears bubble up in his eyes.

_But, what’ll happen when you do learn? Will I just become worthless to you all too?_

"Thanks guys," he smiles at the trio.

They all nod in reaction.

An alarm on Izuku’s phone rings, knocking him out of his self-reflective state. Inspecting the area around him, he finds his phone, ringing.

10:00. _Curfew._

Izuku turns to his new friends, “Sorry everyone, but... I have to start heading out now. My mom has a curfew set for me at 10.”

“You have curfew?” Denki questions, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Hey! I do too!” Kirishima adds on in defense of his new friend.

“You do?” Denki follows up.

“Sorry everyone, but I really do have to head out. My mom’s expecting me to be home any second,” Izuku replies, shooting up from his originally seated position. Ochaco stands as well, followed by Denki climbing off of his bed before helping Kirishima out of the endless black hole of the nefarious bean bag.

Walking Izuku to the door, the three see him out. As he descends down the stairs, Ochaco calls out, “You have our numbers, right? Just in case?”

“Yep! Thanks everyone, I had a great time!” Izuku warmly comments, waving to the trio. All three wave back.

“Great having you, text us when you want to meet back up some time,” Denki smiles at him.

“Have a safe return!” Kirishima kindly exclaims.

As Izuku walks away, and as the front door closes behind him, he hears Denki reply, “What do you think this is? Dragon Quest? ‘Have a safe return?’”

He smiles to himself.

_So that’s what friends are like._

Alone, Izuku makes his trek back home.

* * *

The rain had stopped around an hour before Izuku left, all that remained were the clouds and the fog. 

Thick, heavy fog, flowing in across the street, obscures anything that isn't lit by an accompanying streetlamp.

Izuku wasn’t afraid, he’s walked this path before. His apartment is close – he’d get back at 10:17 sharp.

No stars tonight, they could never break through these clouds. Far-off neon billboards flicker their vibrant light through the fog, functioning as a makeshift compass for Izuku. The street lights above break through, providing momentary illumination, like Will O’Wisps in the mist.

His steps are quiet, his satchel pulled over his shoulder, held tight to his body. The only thing bothering him right now is the cold. His breath trails warmly, blending with the misty fog.

He’s the only person out right now. 

At least, the only one that he can see.

 _Mom’s going to chew me out for this,_ he considers, _maybe she’ll be lenient this time. I was at a funeral after-party after all_.

A lone car revs its way past Izuku on the street, its wheels skimming through shallow puddles along the curb. Its taillights leave a ghostly red trail as they fade off into the distance.

The red light catches his eye, dredging up a recent memory.

Eraserhead’s crimson glare.

Piercing through the fog, straight into Izuku’s very being.

 _"No"_ , his raspy voice hisses.

Its venomous bite strikes to Izuku’s core.

_I know I can never be like them. I’ll just be their useless friend. At least I can say I’m friends with heroes…_

Izuku attempts to push Eraserheads words out of his mind.

Reaching an intersection, a malfunctioning stoplight incessantly blinks, its repeating red glare cutting through the fog. Once again reminded of Eraserhead, Izuku puts his head down and crosses the street.

Desperate for anything else to consider, the teenager scours his mind for other possible food-for-thought. 

_Kirishima probably needs tutoring, based off what I saw._

He puts a hand up to his chin.

_Maybe I can help with that…_

_Help? How? You’re a quirkless nobody. All you’ll do is help someone else achieve YOUR dream_ , Eraserhead’s raspy voice intrudes.

“You’re wrong…” Izuku mutters back in response to his own mind. “I know you’re wrong,” he continues.

The hot tears bubble from the sides of his eye.

Today just won’t stop.

_I'm not crying about this. Not again._

In the distance, a rustle. A glass bottle clanking against the ground.

The sound of the bottle scraping against concrete as it rolls away in the distance.

It gets louder.

From the thick fog, the bottle rolls to his feet.

Izuku stops in his tracks.

The streetlight above him flickers once again.

Izuku's hair begins to stand on end, chills erupting across his neck.

More racket commences ahead followed by the sound of a trashcan being knocked over.

Stepping over the bottle, Izuku grows increasingly concerned. Approaching the closest wall, Izuku places his back against it, his face oriented towards the street before shimmying his way slowly and quietly towards the source of the commotion.

As he gets closer, a voice breaks through the quiet of the night. Gruff yet shrill, the voice is unpleasantly deep.

Shimmying further along, the building comes to an end. Inbetween it and its neighbor: An alleyway. Inside the obscured path, the deep voice grows louder as Izuku approaches.

“Hand it over or I’ll prick you with one of these,” it gurgles out.

“N-No… I need this money! If I don’t pay, they’ll take everything!” a woman’s voice pleads.

Izuku stops and inhales deeply, unable to see what exactly is happening.

“Doesn’t bother me. He needs his repayment, just like everyone else. You made a bad bet, you took the medicine, you got nothing worthwhile, now you pay,” the voice growls.

Izuku gulps.

“I… I can’t,” she replies.

Izuku takes a long, deep breath and closes his eyes.

_What should I do? What would Ochaco or Denki or even Eraserhead do?_

“Then if you can’t, I’ll get it myself. Now **_MOVE OVER_** ,” the voice snarls.

The woman screams.

_What would Kacchan do?_

Izuku opens his eyes.

His feet have taken off without even a thought. Dashing into the alleyway, his footsteps crash through shallow puddles as he charges in.

Without looking, he swings his satchel over his shoulder and throws it at the source of the voice.

**_Thunk._ **

The satchel falls to the ground. Izuku’s notebook slides out of the leather bag.

Standing before the teenager, an eight-foot villain adorned in a wrinkled muscle jacket and black pants, erupts from the shadows.

David, meet Goliath.

The bag had lightly bounced off of the mountain of muscle's back, falling helplessly onto the ground.

With the physique of an extremely roided linebacker, or possibly more comparable to a Kodiak bear, Izuku is minuscule in comparison to the villain.

With gloved hands, the thug holds the woman firmly against the wall, turning his head to address the new annoyance.

Dropping her, she plummets to the floor before collapsing, gasping for air.

Eyes locked on the teenager, he steps forward into the dim, flickering light at the mouth of the alleyway. A painted balaclava obscures his face, his eyes the only thing visible under the black facemask.

_Oh crap._

His eyes shimmer, two golden spotlights enveloped by darkness. The white spray-paint across the balaclava forms the image of a skull across his face, its eye-sockets framing his illuminated irises. 

_Oh shit._

“What do we **_have HERE?_** _”_ he snaps out.

Realizing the predicament he has now dragged himself into, Izuku runs situations through his head.

_What can I even do?_

While Izuku runs his mind through the options, the man lunges for the teenager.

Charging with the might of a furious bull, he exclaims “ ** _COMMERE_** ,” as he stretches out two gargantuan hands.

_Kamui Woods._

_Two steps to the left, then take a dash into the alley! **Must** buy time for the woman! _Izuku settles.

Sidestepping the brute, Izuku outpaces him with his short stature. Turning to the woman, Izuku gestures with his hand for her to escape. With wide eyes, she’s shocked to see her hero be someone like Izuku.

She remains in place.

_Go! Come on!_

His mind screams at him.

His voice fails him.

With a sudden, jerking motion, Izuku turns his head to reestablish his line of sight on the villain, only to have his nose meet the man’s fist.

Thrown backwards into the alley, Izuku loses his balance, falling onto his back.

With each of his thunderous steps clunking under the leather weight of combat boots, the titan approaches Izuku. Struggling to crawl backwards, Izuku’s eyes struggle to remain open as he searches for the woman.

Watching her stumble to her feet, she dashes into the street.

“Oh, look at _that_. I’ll have to catch up to her later,” the villain grumbles through gritted teeth.

Watching her escape, Izuku smiles, blood gurgling between his teeth. His nose drips with blood. Turning his head, his eyes meet the golden hue of Balaclava.

“Whatcha smilin’ for, kid? You won’t be going home to mommy,” he grimaces.

The reality of the situations strikes Izuku.

Where the adrenaline of being a hero over-rid his other sensations, fear twists knots into Izuku’s stomach. Attempting to drag himself further down the alley and out of his grasp, the gargantuan grabs onto Izuku’s coat, thrusting him into the air.

His phone falls to the ground.

It buzzes to life, a photo of his mother flashing across the phone-screen. The plastic back of the phone vibrates against the asphalt.

“Out past your curfew?” Balaclava questions.

Izuku glances over at his phone.

10:17.

Turning towards the villain, Izuku grins, overwhelmed with emotion. Unable to process what could be his last moments, Izuku laughs.

Balaclava smashes his head into Izuku’s forehead. The teenagers head is thrown back from the impact.

His right eye swells shut.

Blood pours from his nose.

Squinting with his left eye, Izuku remains conscious out of pure will-power.

He’s dealt with this all his life. The bullying. The anger. The abuse.

It’ll take more than a few punches from another bully to stop him now.

Spitting a blood-filled wad into his attacker’s eye, Izuku is thrown to the ground. The violent impact knocks the wind out of Izuku.

His body ricochets off the asphalt and into a tin trashcan.

He exhales harshly, barely clinging on. His vision grows increasingly blurry.

At least he went out fighting.

Just like Kacchan.

**_THUNK._ **

Izuku curls up, recoiling from a nasty kick to the stomach. His swollen eyes prevented him from foreseeing the attack. His insides screaming in pain, his stomach churns before Izuku spits out the bloody mess that was his stomach content. 

Attempting to crawl away, Izuku blindly scurries from his assailant. A trail of bloody spit dangles from his bottom lip.

Feeling a meaty hand on his right leg, Izuku is thrown backwards, dragged into the air by the immense strength of this goliath. Slamming into the ground backwards, something within Izuku cracks.

A broken rib.

His muscles are tense and burning - the poor teenager subject to an immeasurable amount of pain. 

Opening his swollen eyes, Izuku finds the pair of combat boots inches from his head. One leg raises to be then held directly above his eye-line. 

Turning onto his back, all that remains in Izuku's line of sight is the sole of Balaclava’s combat boots. Accepting what is to come, Izuku closes his eyes.

Hot tears bubble from the sides of his eyes.

Kacchan would be proud. And he proved Eraserhead wrong…

He got to be a hero after all, at least to somebody.

Maybe this is how it was meant to end anyways.

**_CRACK._**


	9. Crossroads

**CRACK.**

A rush of wind trails over Izuku, whipping his face with the slight breeze.

_Am I still alive?_

Auditory chaos surrounds Izuku, the cacophonous melody of a street brawl: clattering trashcans, solid and meaty whumps of fists against flesh, the occasional snap of wind caused by a missed attack or thrown object, matched with grunting vocals and pained snarls.

Still in shock from his prior predicament, Izuku remains as stiff as a board, believing a lack of movement will protect him from another assault.

_A villain turf war?_

Another meaty whump, a fist meeting its mark. Balaclava's distinctive growl alerts Izuku of the villain's continued presence.

_Lord help whoever picked a fight with him._

Opening his remaining good eye, Izuku peeks at the action before him. A few feet right of Izuku, towards the mouth of the alleyway, Balaclava blocks an attempted spin kick by a shadowy assailant.

Thin and exceptionally limber, Balaclava's enemy uses their weight disparity to his advantage, keeping out of Balaclava's reach whenever possible and using his agile movements to close the gap between them.

Throwing a heavy punch, Balaclava's attempted blow is dodged by the lithe individual. Sidestepping the attack, they throw a punch of their own, connecting with Balaclava's abdomen. Keeling from the impact, Balaclava's reaction opens the door for the shadow man to plant an onslaught of furious punches straight into his gut.

Moving with exceptional speed, almost too fast for Izuku to keep track of, the assailant aims each of his attacks with unmatched precision. Their hair billows unnaturally, writhing to and fro as if possessed with a mind of its own.

With a weighty _**snap** , _a lengthy piece of durable cloth recoils around the back of Balaclava's head. Clutching to the cloth like a whip, the street-brawler tugs on the restraint, pulling the thug headfirst into his knee.

Smashing Balaclava's nose against his kneecap, the titan crashes into the asphalt. Standing above the now prone villain, the figure snaps the cloth back into his grip.

Reaching a gloved fist out and punching the ground, cracking the concrete below, Balaclava slowly rises with his fist as support. Turning his head, Balaclava's inhuman snarls indicate that this fight is far from over.

Izuku, still maintaining his motionless state, watches this brutal combat. With each attack, his stomach twists itself further into knots. The blood that had previously been dripping down his face has dried now, his right eye now swollen shut.

Growing increasingly fearful by the brawls intensity, Izuku slowly attempts to crawl away.

At the mouth of the alley, the figure snaps the restraining bond around Balaclava's forehead and upper chest, holding the cloth with two hands. Pulling the titan towards him and crouching during the moment of impact, the shadow-man drops to his back and thrusts his legs into the air, planting his feet against the villain's back and sending him careening through the air.

Turned into a living projectile, Balaclava is sent flying over Izuku, deeper into the alleyway.

**WHUMP.**

The mountain of muscle is lost to the darkness, the sound of his impact echoing throughout the thin alley.

_**CA-RASH.** _

Turning to inspect his savior, Izuku's stomach drops.

With inky black hair slowly drifting down towards his face, the slender man is adorned in an outfit of pure black, the only shine of color being a pair of golden, slotted goggles. Standing directly over Izuku, his shadow blocks the light of the street. In his hands, with the extra length being wrapped around his neck, the surprisingly durable cloth he had used to restrain Balaclava.

_Eraserhead._

_Of all heroes, it had to be Eraserhead._

Izuku averts his gaze, afraid that the hero would recognize him.

_Oh man, what would he even say?_

"Are you hurt? Do you need assistance?" Eraserhead asks Izuku, the same hoarse voice slicing through the air. Failing to recognize the bloodied and battered boy, Izuku sits in place, too embarrassed to react.

_Now is really not a good time for this!_

Stepping forward, Eraserhead approaches the inside of the alleyway, snapping a greater amount of the bond into his hands in order to prepare for a possible counterattack.

"If you can move, you need to get out of here. Call the police and seek medical assistance," Eraserhead keeps his eyes focused on the alleyway, "it's the rational thing to do." Looking up at Eraserhead, Izuku attempts to stand up in order to flee.

His knees waver, his legs feel like mush.

_I have to get out of here!_

Pulling himself up with the walls behind him, Izuku stumbles to his feet in an attempt to turn and leave the alley.

His right leg wobbles and both knees shake. 

His balance fails him.

As he crumples to the ground, Izuku cries out in pain.

_I must have broken my leg during the fight!_

With eyes remaining locked on the shadows of the alley, Eraserhead is jolted out of his focus by Izuku's cries. Looking behind him, he finds the teenager on the ground, crumpled into a sniffling ball. Turning to assist Izuku, he crouches down to the boys level, studying his now shattered leg. 

Bending backwards, the strange angle his foot now rests at sends a sickening chill across Izuku's back. 

"I can help you get out of here, I can swing up to the roof using this restrictive bond," without looking at Izuku, he gestures to the cloth wrapped around his neck, "and from there you can seek refu-".

Eraserhead pauses mid-sentence.

Pushing the goggles off of his face and onto his forehead, he looks at Izuku.

His crimson, tired eyes are teeming with bulging veins and arteries.

Bloodshot.

"Kid?"

_Oh shit._

Recognizing Izuku, Eraserhead looks at the boy with a shocked and confused expression.

"What are you doing here?' Eraserhead asks, trapped in a daze. For a moment, Izuku witnesses the same vulnerable expression the hero revealed at the funeral.

Suddenly, the ground shakes below Izuku.

Thunderous stomps echo from further within the darkness of the alleyway. Charging from the shadows, the sounds of metallic scraping reveal Balaclava's return.

Eraserhead is wrenched from the ground next to Izuku, clutched by Balaclava's gargantuan hands.

Throwing the pro-hero into the concrete, Balaclava backs up before rushing forward, driving a boot directly into Eraserhead's face.

Izuku screams in shock at the violent display of force.

Twisting his neck in response to Izuku, Balaclava's face shimmers, the slot revealing his eyes now illustrating the brutes quirk: his skin has morphed into steel, explaining the new sounds of metallic scraping with his every movement and the overwhelming force behind his already brutal attacks.

Eraserhead's raggedy hair falls in front of his face, his goggles kicked off. Dazed and barely conscious, blood slips out of Eraserhead's mouth.

While stunned by the sudden and ferocious attack, Eraserhead is thrown against the wall by the villain.

Holding the limber hero against the brick wall with one of his meaty arms, Balaclava keeps his back turned away from the broken teenager.

"I've heard about you. You've caused us issues," the steel goliath growls out, his voice screeching with a metallic quality.

"I'll make sure to bring your head back to the Boss," he quips.

Cocking his elbow back, Balaclava prepares an absolutely devastating punch.

**TANG!**

A plastic phone bounces off of the thug's head. Clattering down to the ground, the phone's screen cracks.

As Balaclava turns to look at the phone, something leaps onto the titans back.

" **Hey!** You never finished dealing with me!" Izuku screams, pounding his hands against Balaclava's head in an effort to break the villain's concentration.

Releasing Eraserhead from his grip, Balaclava reaches his behind his head in a vain attempt to grab the teenager.

Tossing and turning, bucking and charging, the bull of a man rushes to get the nuisance off of his back. From under his coat, syringes, coins, and collected debts are jostled free from his pockets. Scattering across the ground, the glass casings of the syringes shatter and smash under the goliath's feet.

Casting a heavy hand across Izuku's back, the giant throws Izuku onto the ground. Bouncing off the concrete below, Izuku's vision blurs matched with a sensation of indescribable pain. As the back of his head rebounds from the first impact, smashing against the asphalt a second time, his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Izuku has been knocked unconscious.

Inspecting the boys motionless body, Balaclava gently kicks his foot, waiting for a reaction. Finding a desirable result, he turns to regain his focus against the professional in his midst.

Craning his neck over his shoulder, the thug finds Eraserhead missing. As if he had completely vanished, the agile hero had practically disappeared from the alleyway altogether. 

Turning his gaze upwards, Balaclava searches for his enemy, inspecting every corner high and low for where the professional could have gone.

Confused, the giant looks back down, turning to inspect the area behind him.

**_WHUMP._ **

Planting a bony fist firmly in Balaclava's cheek, the Goliath staggers backwards, holding a hand against his bruised face.

"What? But... My quirk!" He exclaims, snarling behind gritted teeth.

Focusing on Eraserhead's shadowy figure, Balaclava finds the man standing before him, his hair levitating inches above his head, writhing like inky tendrils. Crimson eyes peer at the thug, slicing through the cold air of the alleyway. 

Looking at his hands, Balaclava touches his cheek again.

The hard, metallic sheen that had been there previously has evaporated, his skin having returned to its weak, fleshy state.

Startled at the sudden development, Balclava impulsively throws a weak punch.

Shifting his head to avoid Balaclava's unprepared strike, Eraserhead sends the restraining bond slithering up the villain's arm.

Pulling on the strand, Eraserhead forces the villain's fist into his own face.

Dashing forward, Eraserhead plants a foot into his enemy's side, kicking the villain directly in his abdomen.

As Balaclava reels from the sudden assault, Eraserhead's next few strikes land.

Stumbling deeper into the alley, Balaclava stops, clutching his now broken nose.

**CRACK.**

Snapping it back into place, Balaclava shakes his head, jostling from the pain.

Eraserhead stands, hair raised, eyes locked on the thug.

"You're durable, I'll give you that," the hero compliments the goliath.

"I can say the same for you."

The two stand for a second, sizing each other up.

Both are wounded.

Both are tired.

Both will not give up.

Charging forward, Balaclava rushes at Eraserhead, prepared to end the hero's life.

Using his restraining bond, Eraserhead wraps the cloth around Balaclava's neck to pull himself onto the brutes back, changing the villains original course. Tugging on the cloth, he forces the villain to ram himself into the wall…

Only for Balaclava to smash Eraserhead between the mass of his body and the brick of the building.

Gasping, Eraserhead retains control of the charging beast. Blood trickles from the hero's mouth.

Tugging onto the cloth and forcing Balaclava's gaze upwards, Eraserhead directs the charging goliath out of the mouth of the alley...

And into the streetlight at the end of the sidewalk.

**CRASH!**

Colliding with the steel pole, the metal rod is pushed backwards, a screw away from being yanked out of its post.

Unconscious, Balaclava falls onto the ground with a heavy thump.

Eraserhead collects himself, taking a moment to breathe.

It's been a long, long time since he's fought like this.

Touching his lip, he inspects his finger.

Blood.

 _Will have to pay a visit to Chiyo,_ he considers.

Slowly standing up from the unconscious villain's body, Eraserhead limps back into the alley.

"Kid?"

Stepping further into the shadows, Eraserhead finds the unconscious Izuku.

Soaking in the syringe's mysterious fluid, needles poke into the teens body. Having landed on the prickly patch, Izuku was unknowingly pricked by dozens of needles from the impact of Balaclava's throw.

Frothing at the mouth, Izuku's body begins to shake and convulse.

Eraserhead's eyes widen.

_Oh god._


	10. Desperation

_Sloppy. How absolutely sloppy you’ve become, Old Man._

Aizawa leans over the poor boy, his body shaking and trembling violently in reaction to the syringe’s mysterious fluid.

"Jesus," Aizawa's whispers under his breath. 

_Never seen anything like it. Is this what that newspaper was talking about?_

Leaning over the kid, Aizawa raises a careful hand. It quivers from the stress, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end from adrenaline. Making sure not to poke himself with any of the exposed needles, Aizawa gently plucks as many of the syringes from the teenager’s body as possible.

_Practically a pincushion._

Slipping an arm under his legs, careful not to aggravate the boys broken leg, and his other arm under his back, Aizawa lugs the boy upwards and slings him over his shoulder. The professional grunts, his teeth gritting against one another, his body already sore and tired from his previous scuffle with Balaclava. 

_I know this isn’t safe but if I don’t act soon, he’ll…_

Aizawa prevents himself from finishing that thought. 

Standing up, the professional looks over his shoulder, singling out his characteristic golden goggles against the drag backdrop of gray. Snapping the bond towards his gear, he momentarily pauses to rest them against his forehead.

Just in case.

Looking to his left, the hulking, unconscious body of Balaclava remains limp against the concrete sidewalk. To his right, the kid’s cracked phone.

_The convulsing has stopped and the foam has mostly dissipated. If he’s still alive, the worst of it is hopefully over…_

Snapping the restraint bond towards the phone, Aizawa pulls it to his ear, keeping it place with the cloth.

_No time for an ambulance. Need something faster…_

Analyzing the surrounding area, the limber hero crouches to the ground, resting a knee against the asphalt of the alleyway. Letting out a deep breath, Aizawa extends the cloth forward in two directions.

Wrapping the two tendrils around the neighboring buildings fire escapes, Aizawa snaps his agile body into the air, propelling himself forward as if a slingshot.

As his thin body blasts through the air, wind whips against his pale face. Izuku's arms dangle over his shoulder limply, his body still unconscious.

Landing on top of the neighboring building, the exhausted hero's legs crack. Aizawa pauses momentarily to shift his footing, letting out a deep sigh of exasperation.

With the poor boy in his arms, Aizawa breaks out into a dash, leaping from rooftop to rooftop under the pale moonlight.

“Dial emergency services,” he commands the phone, still wrapped by the bond next to his ear.

_Dialing…_

Aizawa's hair whips behind him, parted by the wind, transformed into a living shadow. The wounds across his face sting, the bruising has turned spots of his white skin purple. Blood trickles from his nose.

In comparison to the kid though, Aizawa is currently an image of perfect health.

_Please be okay kid… Please…_

Snapping between buildings, Aizawa sprints, his breath growing heavier with each lunge.

Aizawa won't let that stop him.

Time is of the essence.

_This is all my fault! You’ve grown sloppy, distracted by teaching! A thug like that would have been a simple fight a few years ago. If you had detained that thug soone-_

“Hello?” A woman’s voice cuts through his thought, accented by the metallic trill of a dated phone.

“I’d like to report a villain. He is already unconscious and needs to be detained,” Aizawa states, turning his eye towards the boy slung over his shoulder. His body twitches occasionally.

“Who is this?” She asks.

“Off Ditko and 18th, past the banking sector, right in front of an alleyway. Can’t miss him, the man’s enormous,” Aizawa answers.

"Excuse me?" the woman replies, confused.

Throwing the phone towards the ground, Aizawa’s next step smashes the already damaged plastic brick.

_Sorry, kid. Can’t have them tracing me._

Dashing across the roof of another building, Aizawa leaps off the corner, wrapping the restraining bond around his left arm before snapping it towards the closest building.

Swinging like a pendulum, Aizawa tugs on the cloth to snap it back onto his arm, using the momentum of the initial snap to propel himself forward.

**_Thwip!_ **

The cloth propels the hero forward.

Using this momentum, Aizawa effortlessly bounds above the empty streets of Japan. As he swings, his dark outfit causes him to blot out the neon light of multiple billboards.

**_Thwip!_ **

_Come on, come on!_

Across his shoulder, the kid begins to twitch in his arms. Dry heaving, the boy unconsciously vomits.

_Faster!_

_Faster dammit!_

**_Thwip!_ **

Aizawa snaps his way throughout the city, wind parting his hair and billowing through his clothes.

His sweat drips from his brow, falling to the streets below.

_Is this my fault? Did he go to try and stop such a powerful villain because…_

_Because of what I said?_

From the force and speed of one final snap, Aizawa lands directly in front of a small, quaint house. To the sides of the home, two concrete complexes reaching at least five stories up.

Attempting to lunge forward, Aizawa's recovering body strains from the pressure. Forced to take a moment to breathe, his crimson eyes rest on the boys unconscious body.

_Am I to blame?_

Despite his body's protests, Aizawa dashes to the wooden front door, sprinting up the stairs.

Reaching the peak of the brief ascent, calves burning, the man practically tackles the wooden entryway.

Pounding against the ornate carving with his free arm, the momentum of his dash causes Aizawa to crash down to one knee.

**_POUND. POUND. POUND._ **

Aizawa stands there, shaking his head, his hair swinging from his desperate motions.

The boy twitches in his arms again, his breathing growing lighter with each second.

**_POUND. POUND. POUND._ **

_Please… Please…_

The boy wretches, his breath growing increasingly wheezy.

**_POUND. POUND. POUND._ **

Aizawa steps back, pushing himself back onto his feet, using his free shoulder to slam against the door. 

**_WHAM!_ **

Ignoring the pain and stepping back, he tries again.

**_WHAM!_ **

Aizawa stops, gasping for breath.

His body is trying to stop him. 

He does not care.

**_WHAM!_ **

No budge.

Aizawa stands, his throat dry from activity, hair falling over his face.

Blood trickles from his split lip.

“ ** _PLEASE!!!”_** he screams at the top of his burning lungs.

The desperate cry for help echoes through the urban caverns of Japan.

Aizawa stands, gasping for air.

His dry eyes sting.

Tears drop from his bloodshot eyes.

Each drop burns with horrendous pain.

The salt of his tears irritates his open wounds.

Falling to his knees, Aizawa throws his head upwards.

“ ** _PLEASE!!!_** ” The hero cries in desperation.

The kid's breath is almost non-existent. 

_I can’t… Not again… Not another funeral._

Aizawa lays the boy gently down onto his lap. Clutching the boy’s increasingly pale face, Aizawa’s stinging tears drip against his face.

_Please…_

Running his hands through the boy’s green hair, he pushes the kids head against his chest, clutching him as if he was his own son.

**_KA-CHUNK._ **

Aizawa throws his head upwards.

Standing in the doorway, an elderly woman, no taller than four feet. With her hair wrapped in pink curlers and wearing a pink bathrobe, her eyes squint at the hero.

“You better have one heckuva good reason to wa-” She goes to scold Aizawa until she recognizes what is happening before her.

“Oh no. Oh no, oh no,” she says, her wrinkled eyes widening with fear.

“Come, come, get inside,” she turns around, stepping into her wooden abode.

Aizawa rushes to his feet, clutching the boy.

His entire body hurts.

Carrying the kid inside, the old woman directs Aizawa towards the living room.

“Here! Here! Lay him here,” she directs, pointing to a plastic-wrapped couch.

Ignoring the many crinkles of the plastic, Aizawa lays the boy down atop the cushions.

“What happened? What’s wrong with him,” the woman asks, inspecting the bloodied and battered child.

Aizawa sputters in an attempt to choke some words out of his parched throat.

“H-He tried to fight a supervillain on his own. Was forced to ingest some kind of fluid, had a bad reaction. I….”

Aizawa stops in his tracks.

Gulping down a rare expression of fear, Aizawa turns his eyes from Izuku and onto the elderly woman.

“I think he’s dying,” he admits.

He swallows down tears.

The woman looks up at him with a concerned glance.

“Aizawa… If he’s dying, I can’t save him! My quirk will only kill him faster!” She yells at him in her croaky voice.

Aizawa paces further into the house, his heavy limps creaking the wooden floorboards beneath him.

“Where are you going? Aizawa!” She yells, confused at his actions.

“I can’t save him!”

Jolting back and forth through the wooden house, his exhausted limps echo through the hallways of the house.

"Aizawa!" She croaks at him, waiting for a response.

“ ** _I KNOW!_** ” He screams back at her.

Holding his head in his hands, Aizawa looks at her with burning, crimson eyes.

”I know...” He whimpers as he falls to his knees, tears dropping from his face.

“But I **need** you to do something! I can’t let **another** kid die!” He screams at the woman.

She steps back at his intense reaction, a concerned expression consuming her face.

Approaching Aizawa, she rests a hand on his shoulder, looking back at the couch. 

Tears drip from the hero’s eyes as he progressively breaks down into a sob.

Turning her heavy expression towards her old friend, she quietly observes.

“Aizawa… What happened? How did you find this kid?” She inquires.

Aizawa sobs into his hands.

“Were you out in the field?” She asks, keeping her hand on his shoulder.

Aizawa’s tears slowly die down.

Stopping to sigh, Aizawa looks towards the dying boy on the couch.

“Aizawa. I need to know. Were you out in the field?” She asks again, concern in her voice.

“Yes.” Aizawa croaks out, his voice cracking.

The woman steps away from him, yanking her small hand from his shoulder angrily.

Walking into the living room, hand against her forehead, she paces in front of the couch.

“By bringing him here, you’re dragging me into your mistake!” She croaks out.

Still crouched on the ground, Aizawa hides behind his mess of hair.

“Yes.”

She looks at him.

“And you admit it?”

“Yes.”

There’s a tense pause between the two.

The boy’s breathing grows ever fainter.

“You’re the only one that can save him,” Aizawa whimpers out.

The woman looks at the broken boy.

His leg is twisted in the wrong direction. His face is coated in dry blood, his skin growing increasingly pale, twisting into a plum-shade of purple. Vomit stains the sides of his mouth. His swollen eye opens every so often.

Twitching with the faint signs of life, barely clinging on .

The woman huffs to herself.

“He’s a fighter alright,” she admits.

Looking over to her, behind his mess of hair, Aizawa feels a glimmer of hope.

“You’ll save him?”

“No promises on saving him, but I can try. I can’t just let the poor boy die on my couch!”

Stepping forward, she reaches the edge of the cushion.

“Come here, come here,” she commands to Aizawa.

Pushing himself off of the floor and limping over, Aizawa steps to her side.

Grabbing his hand, she rests a hand on the armrest of the couch.

“Here goes nothing,” she comments as her lips extend unnaturally from her face.

Placing a gentle kiss against the boy’s forehead, his face grimaces from the reaction.

His body convulses in place.

Twitching back and forth, his body seizes as if possessed by a devil.

Terrified, Aizawa turns to the woman.

“ ** _What did you do?_** ” He questions, rage building in his voice.

“ **What I had to!** He has to process what’s in his system! If his body rejects it, it’ll lose all strength and he’ll die! I gave him some strength to see if he can!” She answers, looking up at the angry Aizawa with a stern face.

Twisting and contorting on the couch, the teenager's body thrusts forward into the air before crashing back down onto the couch.

His arm falls limply from the cushion, smacking against the wooden floor with a painful thunk.

“No…” Aizawa weakly whimpers.

Noticing a small twitch of the index finger, the woman's eyebrows furrow and then raise. Squinting, studying the boys body, she braces herself.

“Wait for it,” She replies.

As the cuts patch across his face, healing into light scabs, the boys swollen eye jolts open.

Releasing a monumental gasp, the teenager blasts through the air.

Suddenly propelling himself from the plastic couch, Aizawa and the old woman gaze upwards to find the kid clutching to the ceiling with his bare hands.

Aizawa looks at the woman.

She simply gazes at her ceiling.

_That’s new._


	11. Origins

Prying his tired eyelids open, Izuku's blurry, frayed vision snaps between subjects.

His head throbs with searing pain.

Just blinking hurts.

Waiting for his eyes adjust, Izuku realizes he has no clue where he is - both in regards to his location and his current orientation.

In front of him, what appears to be a white, plastered wall. His hands are firmly planted against the wall, as if bracing himself against it for support.

_Wh...What situation would I be in... To pass out against a wall?_

Inspecting his hands attachment to the wall, a sudden wave of overwhelming exhaustion envelops his body, striking every one of his nerves.

_And when… Did I.. Get so…. Tired…?_

Izuku’s fingertips remain firmly attached to the plaster as his body gives into the desire to rest, tearing chunks of the popcorn roof with his grip.

Falling towards the ground, unconscious, Izuku’s body plummets like a brick, unaware of its own plight.

As he descends, his body is enwrapped and gently swaddled by Eraserhead’s restraining bond onto the plastic couch below him.

Placed against the crinkling slip wrapped around its cushions, Izuku's forest-green hair is pressed against the couch's armrest. Slowly drifting to his side, his head falls against the seat of the couch, his mind drifting off into a much needed sleep.

* * *

A young Izuku stands determined, his freckled face bruised and scratched, emerald eyes brimming with determination and grit despite the tears bubbling around them. Behind him, another child hiding behind Izuku's small frame, crumpled into a ball, blood trickling from a small scrape on his knee.

Izuku holds a fist out, clutching it close to his body as the child behind him whimpers in pain.

“That’s mean, Kacchan!” young Izuku shouts, defiantly standing against his childhood friend, Katsuki.

“What’ll you do about it!” His old friend smirks, a beaming smile revealing his signature fangs.

“Anything I can!” Izuku shouts back to Katsuki as the young boy enters a fighting stance.

* * *

“You should just give it up,” a mustached doctor instructed Izuku. The doctor's dark glasses reflect the sickly fluorescent light of the office, his skin pallid and wrinkled.

Izuku wasn’t sure what any of it meant, too young to grasp what made any of this so different.

_A joint in his pinkie toe?_

_But! But that’s the little piggy that got to go home!_

How naïve.

It never struck him then, the gravity of what it all meant flew over his young mind at the time.

At that time, he was just upset he didn't have All Might's unique quirk. 

He had no clue what society had prepared for him.

He still doesn't.

* * *

“I’m sorry Izuku! I’m sorry!” His mother sobbed into the green rats-nest he called hair.

_What did she do wrong?_

Even now, he still holds the same belief.

None of it was her fault, she shouldn’t have to chide herself for such.

_Just the luck of the draw._

She never denied him, never sold him off as some useless member of society, to her, Izuku was always destined for greatness, quirkless or not.

_I was still her son and she's still my mother._

That's all that mattered to Izuku.

* * *

“Izuku is quirkless!” A child screams.

Surrounded by mindless kindergarteners, Izuku was the prime choice of meat in this feeding frenzy.

“What does that mean?” Another asks.

“It means he has no quirk! He’s useless!” A young Kacchan excitedly adds on.

"Ew!!!" All the kids screech out as they circle the sobbing Izuku, teachers rushing to break up the mob of children.

_From the get-go, huh? How did you end up with someone as kind as Ochaco…_

* * *

“ ** _No!_** ” Eraserhead cruelly hisses at Izuku. His hair fell gently across his face, those crimson eyes peering directly into Izuku’s soul.

_What’s eating you up inside, Eraserhead?_

A feeling of spite had bubbled up in Izuku at that time.

A choice to rebel.

_Perhaps I still could be a hero…_

* * *

Held in Eraserhead’s hands, Izuku’s body lay broken and bloody.

_Nothing new._

“Kid?” The hero had asked so vulnerably.

His eyes were filled with a burning pain, unlike anything Izuku had prior seen. 

_What do you regret?_

* * *

“ **Hey! You forgot about me!** ”

His voice rattled with such defiance.

Carried by his spite, his anger at the world that had rejected him for so long.

_Now I get to be the hero._

Standing up to his goliath, Izuku had never felt so… Big.

_I could get used to that._

* * *

A soft light trickles in, dancing across Izuku’s closed eyes.

Slowly, sound breaks into Izuku’s world.

Birds chirping.

Water boiling, bubbles rising to the top.

The clanking of a metal spoon against a ceramic teacup.

Creaking unmistakably caused by footsteps against wood.

A monotonous voice slowly cuts into this morning orchestra.

_Is that… the news?_

Stirring in his slumber, Izuku’s eyes are still far too heavy for him to bother opening them.

His every movement invokes dozens of crinkles.

Crinkles like… plastic?

The crinkling sounds remind him of the brute he had just faced down. The snapping of black leather from his movements. Transported momentarily into that alley, Izuku sits perfectly still, mimicking his actions when faced with Balaclava, afraid to move.

The voice becomes clearer, snapping through Izuku's trance and dragging him back into reality. Everything becomes sharper, more focused. Crisp.

“If you have seen him, please call the number on the screen. His mother is anxious for any news,” the newscaster drones on.

_What lack of emotion he carries._

“Told you he’d already be breaking news,” an elderly woman croaks out.

“I can call the number,” a raspy yet familiar voice responds. 

_Wait._

“Perhaps. His body is still far too weak to bring him home safely, he needs to recover for a bit. And that’s not even considering the possibilities of a quirk,” the woman responds.

_Was... Was that about me?_

Izuku stirs again, trying to push himself into waking up. 

The plastic creaks and cracks from underneath him.

_I have a quirk?_

Movement.

More cracking. 

“Aizawa! He’s waking! Get back in here!”

“Is he up?”

“Not sure, he’s stirring though. Here, here, use the phone on the wall!”

“Chiyo, you know how I feel about phones…”

“Aizawa! Now is not the time for your government conspiracies! Besides, you used to work for them!”

“That’s exactly the issue! _Used to_!”

Izuku stirs in place again.

_Why... am I so... tired?_

With a titanic effort, Izuku slides an elbow underneath himself for support and pushes his head onto the arm-rest, brute forcing his eyes to open.

An elderly woman leans over him, investigating his every movement, and…

Is that…

Eraserhead?

His vision momentarily blurs.

A second image crashes into his sight.

_Two Eraserheads?_

Blinking rapidly, Izuku tries to clear the image before him.

_Probably just the morning grog…_

With a stinging pain, Izuku opens his eyes.

There’s now four.

Four Eraserheads.

His vision is fragmented, organized in a diamond-shaped pattern.

The old woman snaps a finger inches from Izuku's face.

His body jolts back despite his exhaustion, his eyes darting towards her hand, analyzing every twitch of her joints.

His stomach curls.

_It’s so disorienting._

She reaches forward.

Chills blast up his neck, the hair on his arms standing up on end.

Lunging upwards, Izuku blasts from the couch once again.

Within a moments notice and without his own realization, Izuku clutches to the ceiling, his feet and the palms of his hands resting against the popcorn plaster.

Looking down at the two strangers, his blurred, disorienting vision sends his brain into overdrive.

Eraserhead moves a finger.

Izuku's eyes single out the moving digit.

Ring finger, left hand.

The woman slowly cranes her neck towards the hero.

Every movement of every ligament and tendon becomes clear to Izuku.

His head throbs with a searing pain, like a migraine collided with a concussion.

_Wait._

_Am I on... Am I on the ceiling?_

With a crack in his voice, Izuku calls out, “Wh-What’s ha-happening!!!”

Eraserhead turns towards the elderly woman, “He has a quirk alright. I’m going to get him down now." 

“Do it carefully! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!” She comments, raising a hand to point at Eraserhead in hopes of directing him.

Izuku's eyes focus on her moving hand, the hair across his body stiff and jagged. Even the hair atop his head is standing, sending cold chills across his body.

Eraserhead’s hair lifts, his eyes peering at the boy with his familiar shade of crimson.

His hair gently droops back down towards his skin. The cold chills that had been ravaging his body have ceased.

Following this relief, Izuku feels his grip loosen against the ceiling. 

Suddenly, he’s tumbling towards the ground.

Relief has been replaced with panic.

Eraserhead, in an attempt to soften the landing, snaps the restraining bond to wrap around the hapless teen.

In a sudden and impulsive reaction, Izuku shifts his body through the air, miraculously dodging each band of the bond, his hair once again standing on end. Cold chills transfer across Izuku's body, as if he had been slammed into an ice bath without warning.

Shifting his gaze towards the woman, Eraserhead and her lock eyes, shocked at the recently empowered teen's reaction time. 

Continuing his plummet to the ground, and now, having broken Eraserhead’s vision, Izuku collides with the wooden floor.

_**WHAM!** _

With arms and legs sprawled out, Izuku’s body flattens out against the wood.

“Ow.”

At least the cold chills have stopped.

The woman approaches the grounded Izuku, “Don’t worry young man, we’re both here to help. I’m a professional, Aizawa here… also is. We found you on the street last night,” she implores to the flattened boy.

“O-Okay… I just… Don’t know what my body is doing,” Izuku replies, face pressed against magnificently carved hardwood.

Moving to push himself off of the floor, his fingertips stick to the hardwood. Embarrassed and increasingly flustered, after having failed to push himself up once, Izuku budges again, tearing splinters of wood from the ground with his grip.

Pulled to his feet with the momentum of the push, Izuku’s eyes can hardly focus.

Attempting to study his fingertips, no discernible result is found. The four separate images of his fingers prevent any proper analysis.

Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and clenching his fist, Izuku asks a simple question.

“Can I use the restroom?”  
  


* * *

Izuku is guided towards a simple, wooden door.

Gently stepping into the tiled room, having opened the door with his elbows, he can feel his toes tearing chunks of fabric off of his socks with every step.

Opening his eyes, the overloading image of four toilets, four showers, four sinks, and four tiled floors shoot through his mind.

Dizzily stepping towards the sink counter, Izuku leans forward, bracing his elbows against marble.

Pushing his head forward, letting his hair fall in front of his face, Izuku attempts to study himself in the mirror.

As he peers at his reflection, his stomach drops.

His emerald green eyes stare back at him, each eye split: Four emerald irises, four pupils. All located within one cornea, arranged in a diamond pattern.

With each flick of his eyes, all four move in unison. If each eye contains four irises, than he has a total of…

Eight.

Which means...

Four separate irises, four separate pupils, four separate retinas.

All located within one eye each.

Together, with both eyes, eight total images.

Holding his hand out, Izuku peers at his digits, the torn splinters of wood still firmly attached to his fingertips.

As a test, he moves his index finger, curling it slowly into his hand.

The upper-most image moves first, followed by the one below it to the right, then the bottom-most image, and finally the left-most.

Processing each image at a different speed, like the movement of a loading circle on a computer. 

He closes his eyes.

_No wonder everything was so disorienting. My brain can’t process each image as it's happening, yet it still alerts me before hand... Like a sixth sense, an extension of sight._

_And… my fingers and toes. They stick to things now, I guess._

Opening his eyes again, the four images dance back and forth as he slowly trails his gaze towards his open palms.

Within the lines and folds on his palms, an extremely thin trail of white silk fill the gaps. Trailing up his fingers, closer analysis of his finger tips reveal the same strands.

Across his entire hand, these silk strands fill in every minuscule gap caused by the folds of his skin. From a few inches away, the silk is barely discernible and even at its most visible, along his fingertips, the silk is hard to identify.

Following the path of silk downwards, Izuku’s eyes are caught on… Frankly, he isn’t sure what to call it.

At the base of his hand, where it attaches to his wrist, two natural ports emerge from both arms.

Small, no more than two centimeters in width, these fleshy ports sit closed against the skin of his wrist, appearing as nothing more than slight holes in his skin.

Touching them invokes no strange or extreme reaction, just the sensation of touch.

_Did I… Grow these??_

_In my sleep?_

Curling his middle and ring finger inwards, to touch each port with each respective hands own fingers, an unexpected result.

Blasting from the ports, the same silky substance lining his hands now sticks to the mirror, sill firmly connected to the port on his wrist.

Izuku gulps.

Attempting to move his arm gently, the strand extends slightly, firmly planted against the surface of he mirror.

_This feels so weird!!!_

**_KNOCK. KNOCK._ **

The sudden sound sends jolts up Izuku’s spine, another round of cold chill's just for his own pleasure.

From the shock of the jump, Izuku recoils his left arm, yanking the mirror off of the wall with force and smashing it into himself.

Still intact, the mirror knocks Izuku backwards, sending the teenager onto his back.

“You okay in there?” The elderly woman croaks out.

“Y-Yeah!” Izuku lies.

_What the hell is happening?_


	12. Arachno-Sensation

“Yep, he has a quirk alright,” the woman’s voice croaks out.

A fuzzy, searing light fills Izuku's vision.

With a flashlight held inches from his eyes, the woman inspects the recent developments within the internal anatomy of Izuku's eyes.

“Never seen anything like it, such sudden shifts in such crucial organs. Usually quirks take time to develop, not one night,” She adds on, turning her gaze towards Eraserhead.

Izuku had learned her name earlier that morning, after his ordeal in her bathroom had been discovered: Chiyo Shuzenji, more famously known as the “Youthful Heroine” Recovery Girl. Chiyo learned the boy's name quickly from his numerous, profuse apologies to her for his continuous accidental damages to her house.

Eraserhead, now formally introduced to Izuku as the scruffy Shouta Aizawa, sits in the armchair comfortably situated in the corner of the room. His nostrils leaking smoke, the escaping breath of yet another cigarette. His smoking has riddled the air with the stench of burning tobacco, much to Chiyo's chagrin. 

After some time, Izuku had adapted to his eyes somewhat, at least in regards to handling the slow mannerisms of day to day life. His diamond-segmented vision allows for a complete and total analysis of even the most minute things - with some costs.

His body tingles and twitches with every little movement around him, sending goosebumps up his legs and chills up his spine. Aizawa was forced to turn to his cigarettes when tapping his fingers against the arm-rest of the chair proved too much for Izuku to handle.

Wrapped in fresh bandages, with gauze placed over his recovering bumps and bruises, Izuku looks remarkably better than the night before.

Chiyo’s living room is one of quaint comfort, with its wooden, ornate features and brilliantly pink, poofy furniture. Small picture frames of relatives, close friends, and other heroes litter the walls, free of any miniscule mark of dust or soot. An antiquated television from the late 90’s sits atop a wooden stand against the wall, occasionally invaded by the reckless frequencies of another channel. The white, plastered ceiling lay permanently marked by Izuku – small chunks of plaster torn off by his gripping fingertips.

Puffing from his cigarette, Aizawa calmly watches from behind the scenes as Chiyo analyzes the boy.

“What makes this even more peculiar is the number of traits altered – extreme tensile grip, adhesion to various surfaces, divided irises, the list goes on, with no seeming connection,” Chiyo turns toward Aizawa, head hung over her shoulder, expressing a perplexed glance.

Aizawa slowly munches on the butt of the cigarette, leaning over himself while sitting in the hot pink armchair. Between the two, a coffee table sits, topped by two cups and the entire coffee kettle – unusually stained by more than a few brews in the last few hours.

“Oh! Are you even listening at all?” She questions, twisting her body to fully address the ratty man, placing her hands on her hips with a derisive tone. The beam from her flashlight, now placed against her hip, shines into the corner of the house.

Peering over at Chiyo with an exhausted expression, his munching comes to a slow, progressive stop. The cigarette sticks out from his lips, pointed upwards to the ceiling - a small trail of smoke floating from the chewed paper wrapping. 

“Yes, Chiyo, I am. I’m just thinking. Looking for a connection,” He responds with a sigh.

Coated in bandages, stitches, and patchwork gauze across his face and body after last night’s fight, Aizawa looks undoubtedly awful.

Izuku, sitting behind Chiyo, raises his voice, cutting through the tension between the two 'friends' with his boyish tones, “S-So what you’re saying is… I have multiple quirks?” His emerald irises dart between the two adults, studying their every movement.

“From what I can gather, yes. It might be the lack of sleep getting to me but I can barely comprehend them all!” Chiyo exclaims, the light still beaming from her flashlight.

Turning his head, Aizawa turns his gaze towards the corner of the room, illuminated by the flashlight. Chewing on the cigarette, he blankly stares.

“Hey, kid, can you repeat your… uh,” he snaps his fingers, trying to remember the words, “repeat your symptoms.”

Izuku looks down at his hands, inspecting his recent developments. The thin white strands of whatever sticky substance lines his fingertips and palms stands out from his pink skin, contrasting with the freckles that litter his body.

“Well, I can climb up vertical surfaces, and I guess some horizontal? But, like ceilings, which would mean my fingers would have to have a form of tensile grip, or perhaps a gravity repellant like Uraraka, or maybe it could b-” Izuku mutters off before being interrupted.

“Cut that out, be more precise. Try again,” Aizawa snaps at him.

“Uh… I can clutch to and climb surfaces like walls and ceilings, my eyes have been divided into eight irises which form a total of four separate images that process at different speeds, and I adapted these… ports on my arms that can shoot a strong, silky strand when I push my fingers down on my hand a certain way,” Izuku replies, mimicking the hand-motion, with an index finger and pinky finger extended out.

Hearing this, Aizawa turns his glance from the kid to the corner of the room.

“I think I found our connection,” he answers, pointing a finger towards the corner. Chiyo and Izuku turn their heads, inspecting the illuminated corner.

Projecting a thick black shadow against the corner of the wall, a small spider sits atop a hastily constructed web. Can’t have been there for more than a few hours.

“A spider…” Izuku comments while looking down at the ports on his arms.

“That… makes sense… They’re spinnerets, they’re constructing spider-silk in my body,” Izuku processes the information. 

_These white strands must be webbing!_

Turning to Aizawa, Chiyo adds on, “And that would explain his reaction-time. It’s a result of his divided irises,” she looks at Izuku, “you said each image processed at a different time?”

“Mhm, the top one goes first and the others follow suit, like a loading process,” Izuku nods, rotating his index finger in a similar fashion.

“He reacts faster than the image processes because even if his eyes have morphed and adapted, they’re all still connected to one optic nerve each. His brain can only process so much at a time, so if he has four images coming in, his body reacts on instinct before the first image even loads,” Chiyo estimates, spinning the web of Izuku’s quirk together.

“He reacts faster than anyone else should because of his eyes, but his body’s processing of protein to create silk strengthens his musculature, enhancing his own abilities. It’s all connected, even if it doesn’t seem so,” Chiyo finalizes her analysis.

“So, I practically have a sixth sense?” Izuku asks.

“In a way, call it something like a ‘Spider-Sense’,” Aizawa proudly asserts.

That’s the coffee talking.

“Sir, I hate to burst your bubble but we can’t,” Izuku answers, surprisingly matter of fact for the verbose teenager.

“What? It’s just a name,” Aizawa replies, confused as to why that would be a matter of issue.

“It’s copyrighted. In fact, that’s why this is all so bizarre to me,” Izuku asserts, gazing at his hands.

“What?” Aizawa responds, confused as to how his abilities could be a legal matter.

“All of my abilities, my traits, they’re all extremely similar to a fictional character – ‘The Spectacular Spider-Man’,” Izuku gestures with his hands in his air, adding a sense of awe to the name.

“Who?”

“Most have probably forgotten all about him by now, but before there were quirks, there was two American comic book companies producing superhero stories and Spider-Man was one of them. Now that we actually have superheroes, they’ve all fallen into obscurity,” Izuku explains.

“But, all my abilities, they match up with this character, which makes it extremely bizarre,” Izuku assesses.

“Well, I’ve heard rumors that a person’s psychological development could impact their quirk development, perhaps you adapted these traits out of interest or even belief in the character?” Chiyo considers, attempting to assuage Izuku’s concerns.

“Oh, hogwash. Odds are you just developed a quirk based off an arachnid and sure, on paper you have the same abilities, but you’re your own person,” Aizawa brushes past the question.

“Regardless, the question over if an obscure comic company is going to sue you for existing based off of a fictional has-been isn’t my main concern. We still need to document your quirk,” Aizawa pushes himself off of the armchair.

“If the name bothers you that much, I have a separate option for you: ‘Arachno-Sensation’, it sounds more scientific anyways, probably will get you more points,” Aizawa brainstorms, conceiving of such a thing in such a brusque manner.

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, Aizawa sits back down. Leaning back into the chair, Aizawa lets the hair fall over his face as he closes his eyes, ready to doze off in one of his signature naps.

Izuku gazes at his hands, a smile slowly building on his face.

_Yeah, Arachno-Sensation… I like the sound of that!_

Turning his eyes to the exhausted Aizawa, Izuku blurts out the same question as before.

“I know you said ‘no’ before but… Could I be a hero now?”

Lifting one eyelid, Aizawa’s bloodshot eye stares at him.

Closing it and returning to his nap, he grumbles out a response.

“Ask me another time…”

Chiyo looks at Izuku “Well, it might be difficult for you now. You’re 16, yes?”

“Mhm, yes ma’am.”

“Well, if that’s true, you’ve missed your enrollment period for any hero program. I mean, you could try and go through the process of earning a provisional hero license, but to do so would require extensive training and banking on an internship to sponsor you,” Chiyo explains, dashing some of Izuku’s hopes.

“Oh…”

Seeing his visible disappointments, Chiyo stops to consider her next answer.

“Don’t worry young man, you’ll get your chance, some way or another,” Chiyo optimistically comments as she walks into the kitchen.

Looking at Aizawa, Izuku notices the hero glancing at him before feigning sleep.

**_KNOCK KNOCK._ **

“Oh! I think I know who that could be!” Chiyo cheerfully estimates, slowly walking towards the door. Opening it, Inko stands in the doorway, clutching her purse with an iron grip, tears bubbling in her eyes.

“I got your call. You found Izuku?” She asks the elderly woman. Glancing up at Inko, Chiyo nods and lets her into the house.

Stepping forward, Inko looks over and spots Izuku, adorned in his medicinal wraps. Seeing her son alive and okay, she dashes forward, practically tackling Izuku into a hug. Sobbing, she clutches Izuku closely.

“I th-thought I lost you!”

“N-No mom! I’m okay, I’m okay! See!” He clutches his mother. Aizawa has awoken from his slumber.

Pushing himself from the chair, he approaches Inko as she grasps her son.

“Good morning Mrs. Midoriya, my name is Shouta Aizawa, also known as Eraserhead. I saved your son,” He introduces himself, stretching out a hand.

Turning to him, Inko looks at Izuku, double-taking between her son and the hero before her.

“Y-You saved my son?” She asks, a hand clutching her chin with concern.

Retracting his hand understandably, Aizawa nods.

“Yes, he was attacked by a supervillain last night while walking home. I found him after he suffered from some injuries and brought him here to my associate, Recovery Girl. We’ve kept him here while nursing him back to a suitable condition until you could pick him up. We’re sorry for not notifying you sooner but his phone had been destroyed during the attack and until recently he was resting. We found your number on the news,” He explains.

Listening to his explanation, Inko snaps her head between Izuku and Aizawa, reacting to the news that her son had been so viciously attacked. Breathing a sigh of relief, she rushes forward, grasping Aizawa with a firm hug around his waist.

“Oh! Oh, of course,” he replies, placing a hand on her back.

Chiyo stands, smiling happily upon seeing the family reunited.

Feeling his shirt grow wet, Aizawa looks down to find Inko sobbing into his chest.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She replies. Looking over to Izuku, Aizawa notes how the teenager stands, clutching his left arm with his right, sheepishly looking away.

Stepping back from her exceptional grip on the man, she inspects his face closer.

“Wait, sir… Were you standing next to us at the funeral yesterday?”

Jogging his memory, images of Katsuki’s funeral blast through Aizawa’s mind.

_Jesus! Was that really yesterday?_

“Y-Yes, yes I was. How powerful coincidences can be,” Aizawa replies. Looking to Chiyo, she looks up at him with furrowed eyebrows, an expression of indignant questioning.

Rolling her eyes and stepping forward, Chiyo interrupts the two.

“More importantly, Mrs. Midoriya, we have some startling news for you…”

Looking over to the elderly woman with a questioning glance, Inko looks at her son.

Clutching his left arm with his right, Izuku stares out the window.

Something about him seems _off._

Something’s _different_.

“Your son had a run-in last night with a trigger-seller. If you aren’t sure what that is, it’s a drug that’s usually used to temporarily power-up an individual’s quirk, however, with your son being quirkless, and the amount he was forced to take in by the villain…”

Inko’s head jolts upon hearing the word “ _forced_ ”, looking at Chiyo.

Aizawa steps forward, placing a hand on Inko’s shoulder.

“Your son now has a quirk, one unlike anything we’ve ever seen. We’ve already named it,”

Izuku turns towards his mother, looking back at her with his divided irises.

“Arachno-Sensation.”


	13. Home

_Such a sudden shift. Two lives, mother and son, twisted and turned onto their heads,_ Aizawa mumbles to himself, lingering in Chiyo’s living room long after the Midoriya's had departed. 

Sitting on the edge of the pink cushions of the corner armchair, Aizawa stares off into the formless details of the wall, Chiyo by his side. Shirtless, Aizawa leans against his knees, elbows propped to his side, to allow Chiyo easy access to the bloody gashes across his scarred and worn body. Raised to his level through a workman’s stool, she plucks his stitches, replaces gauze, and dresses his wounds, carefully tending to her old friend.

“You should get some rest soon, you’ve been up all night,” Chiyo kindly suggests, “You’re free to stay as long as you want, even the night if need be.”

Clutching his chin, Aizawa remains deep in thought, Chiyo’s voice droning off into the distance.

_“Can I be a hero?”_

_He’d need an internship, but to get an internship, he’d need a nomination… Difficult for non-enrolled students…_

_Could he be a hero?_

_It isn’t rational but…_

“Aizawa?”

Jerking his head back, he looks at his elderly friend, eyebrows raised in response.

“You’re considering what young Midoriya asked, aren’t you?”

Shocked at Chiyo’s accuracy, Aizawa’s face twitches, his lips loosening.

His familiar tell.

“Oh Aizawa, always trying to act so aloof,” Chiyo shakes her head endearingly, pulling a set of bloody bandages from Aizawa’s arm, “and yet you’ve always been such a softy. Running off to save another civilian, always the model hero.”

“So, the boy wants to be a hero?” She follows up with before spinning herself around her stool.

Behind her, Chiyo pulls a wet hand-towel from a bowl of hot water resting on a small side-table. Wringing the excess water into the bowl and turning back towards Aizawa, she drags the warm towelette across the wounds and scabs on his back.

Barely wincing, Aizawa continues to focus his gaze at the wall.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Before he even developed his quirk, he lept into action,” turning to Chiyo, he looks his friend firmly in the eyes with a remarkably serious expression, “He saved that woman’s life on a whim, regardless that he was quirkless.”

Returning the gaze, Chiyo nods in response, continuing to wrap Aizawa’s arms in bandages, “Sounds like a natural born hero to me.”

Turning his head towards his bruised and scabbed hands, he inspects his split knuckles and shredded palms.

“He saved my life.”

Clenching his fists, Aizawa shakes his head in disbelief.

_“No!”_

_Aizawa’s cruel hiss echoes throughout his mind._

“A quirkless boy saved my life.”

_The same day._

_He saved my life the same day I told him he could never be a hero._

"Izuku Midoriya saved my life."

Chiyo stops, cocking her head to inspect Aizawa’s reactions.

“So, what'll you do? The boy missed the date for enrollment and it won't do him any good for me to sponsor him, he'd just be locked up in an office all day tending to patients, and we _both_ know you can't sponsor him. I can chip a word in at work, but first, he needs some training with that quirk. Who knows what he can do with all of that,” Chiyo comments, wringing the towel free of old blood.

Aizawa clutches his chin, lost within his own thoughts.

_A natural-born hero…_

_Yes, Chiyo, you’re right._

_He does need training._

_It’s only rational._

* * *

**_KA-CHUNK._ **

The door to the Midoriya apartment unlocks, light seeping into the shady living room as Inko leads the way.

“Go ahead and get some rest, wherever you’d like,” Inko instructs her son.

Looking over her shoulder at Izuku, Inko smiles cheerfully.

“Whatever you need, I’ll bring. You just need time to relax for now and then we can find out all about that new quirk of yours!” His mother giggles to herself, a smile bursting from her cheeks upon spouting the word _quirk_.

For someone that had been so panicked about her son’s disappearance, Inko is taking Izuku’s current condition in strides. Following behind his mother, Izuku steps into his home, his body still aching and creaking from the recent stress.

Comfortable and affordable, the delicately prepared and regularly cleaned living room sparkles in the light. Walking through, Izuku’s four-throng vision easily adapts and accommodates to the familiar setting. Brushing the very edges of his fingertips against the wall, the tactile grip tugs against the paint. Making sure not to damage the wall of his precious home, Izuku can feel his fingers gently sticking against the plaster.

Reaching a slow standstill, Izuku studies the details of his home.

Directly attached, the kitchen and living room have barely any breathing room, the wooden dinner table mere inches from the couch. Behind the table, a tall glass case is propped up against the wall, each shelf adorned with dozens of framed photos of Inko and Izuku.

No sign of his father in any.

Motionless, Inko stands with a cheerful yet nervous smile in the kitchen. Anxiously watching her son, she awaits any reaction from the recently empowered Izuku.

As he inspects the room, his eyes flutter around the premises before resting on his mother.

 _His eyes... They move so quickly!_ Inko mutters to herself, stunned by the rapid darting of his quadrilateral irises. 

“Is-Is something wrong?” He asks, concerned by her behavior. As she stands, her eyes bubble up with tears, peering at her son. Something about him seems... _So confident._

Watching his mother tear up, Izuku rushes over.

Gently grasping Inko's arms, careful not to touch the delicate fabric of her sweater with his fingertips, she moves his hands to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I’m so sorry Izuku… I told you all the wrong things when you were a kid. I should have done more for you, told you different things, be there for you in ways that I wasn’t!” She berates herself as she sobs. Pulling her closer into his arms, Izuku looks up at the framed photos of him and his mother.

Together when he was an infant, dressed in a baby blue onesie.

At his fifth birthday, where Inko lovingly prepared him a custom All Might cake.

His eighth birthday, Inko dressed in an All Might outfit along with her son.

Twelfth birthday, the two at a midnight premiere of Endeavor’s newest film.

Junior high graduation, Izuku sheepishly standing by his mother’s side, a bow tie rebelliously worn along with his routine uniform.

As she sobs into her son’s shoulder for her failures, words burst from Izuku’s mouth.

“Mom, please don’t cry! You did everything you had to and more! You've never let me down!”

Looking up from her tears, Inko gazes at her son curiously.

With tears of his own dropping from his face, he confidently answers her concerns.

“Without you, I wouldn’t know what a hero is!”

As the shock flows over Inko, her tears stop. Raising her head, she fixes her gaze on Izuku.

Eyes meeting, Inko’s eyes dance as they try to keep up with Izuku’s divided irises.

Processing his words, tears flow from her eyes again, a torrent of salty drops. Overcome with emotion, she wraps her arms around her son, pulling him closer to her.

Clutching his mother gently, Izuku pushes his cheek against the top of her head, her green hair scrunching up against his freckled face.

Gentle, hot tears bubble from his eyes, dripping from his face onto Inko’s head.

“Th-Thank you Izuku… Thank you,” his mother stumbles out, her tears slowly subsiding. Standing back from her son’s grasp, she wipes the final few tears from her eyes with a smile.

“I just… Was so worried about you, I thought I drove you away. And to see you now… I was just so worried…” Inko looks down somberly.

“Go ahead, you need some rest,” she says, looking up at her son. Izuku nods, wiping the snot away from his nose with his sleeve.

Lingering for a second, Izuku nods again before walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Shuffling slowly after him, Inko leans forward from the archway to watch Izuku enter his room.

_One day._

_One day can make a world of difference._

Standing in his familiar room, Izuku’s adapted to his new form of eyesight, only occasionally experiencing a dizzy spell. However, the bright colors of his many All Might posters don’t help.

Shaking his head and approaching his bed, Izuku throws himself atop the blue comforter, the springs of the bed bouncing upon the sudden impact.

Laying back, Izuku lets out a sigh of relief. Closing his eyes, Izuku relaxes.

_Finally, some rest…_

Taking a deep breath, Izuku’s eyes open with a sudden jerk.

_Have I smelt this bad all day?_

Lifting his head awkwardly, Izuku tugs his black overcoat towards his nose. Taking a big whiff of an abhorrent cocktail of B.O., dried blood, and vomit, Izuku practically snaps his neck in revulsion. Breaking the trance, Izuku pushes himself off his bed, desperate to get these clothes off.

Peeling the shirt off his back despite its futile efforts to stick to his skin, Izuku throws the shirt into the hamper after a momentary struggle to pry it from his fingertips.

_Wait._

With a hand out-stretched from the toss, Izuku notes something _strange_.

The cuts and abrasions that originally tore across his arms are gone, sealed by flaky clusters of skin.

_This wasn’t Recovery Girl._

Turning his arm around, Izuku studies the path of where the former wounds used to be. All along the trail, clusters of dried skin flake upwards, similar to dandruff.

With his other hand, Izuku runs a finger across the cluster. As the finger drags across the flakes, they gently pull off from his body, scattering to the floor.

_What?_

Looking down at his chest and abdomen, the same flakes of skin linger over where former bruises, abrasions, and lacerations had prior been.

Tapping the former wounds indicates no pain, only the sensation of flakes pulling from the surface.

_Is this… Can Spiders… Is this a part of my quirk?_

Shaking his head in disbelief, Izuku walks towards his desk, throwing his laptop open with sudden and jerky movements. The screen momentarily sticks to his thumb but after a few, careful jerks, breaks free.

Investigating his keyboard, Izuku gulps.

Gently trailing a nail against the trackpad, he opens Internet Explorer before going to type into the search bar. Realizing the amount of danger his fingertips hold in regards to his perfectly functioning keyboard, Izuku curls his fingers inwards to type with his knuckles.

Tapping one letter at a time, Izuku sucks his lips into his mouth, nervously maintaining his careful movements.

C-a-n

Space.

S-p-i-d-e-r-s

Space.

R-e-g-e-n-e-e

_Shit._

Delete.

R-e-g-e-n-e-r-a-t-e

Return.

As the results load, multiple articles pop-up across the screen as well as a small description at the top of the screen:

 _“_ _If a_ _spider_ _is unfortunate enough to lose a leg, then provided it still has at least one more molt left in its life cycle, it's able to grow a new leg. In most species the new leg is thinner and shorter than the original leg. It_ _can_ _take two or three molts until the_ _regenerated_ _limb matches the original in appearance.”_

_Molt?_

Looking at the flakes of skin in the palm of his hand, Izuku’s eyes widen.

_I’m… molting!_

Shaking his hand back and forth, the flakes of skin drift towards the floor. Pacing, Izuku ponders the meaning of this recent development.

“If spiders molt to grow, shedding their skin all in one go, then with a human’s anatomy, where we continuously lose and grow more skin cells, that means I’m perpetually molting. But instead of just making myself larger and larger with each ‘molt’, due to my mammalian physiology, the molting must have…” He drags his hand across his former wounds.

Without the cluster of flakes, the skin underneath is smooth and soft. Tender to the touch.

“The molting advanced my healing rate. I have enhanced healing!” Izuku’s expression transforms from one of pondering to shock and then to joy.

A smile cracks across his face.

Just another power to add to the list.

The quirk that keeps on giving.

And then, another big whiff of his body odor.

_I really should go shower._

Opening the door from his room to the hallway with a gentle tap of the back of his wrist, Izuku heads to the bathroom, temporarily dressed in a white undershirt.

Upon stepping into the hallway, Izuku's ear catches the sound of... Inko's voice?

_Who would she be talking to?_

In the living room, Inko appears to be talking to someone, perfectly framed as to keep the mysterious person unknown.

“Oh, thank you so much for coming! He’s back now, don’t worry. You wouldn’t believe the circumstance he’s been through! I was so worried for him…” She rambles on.

Confused, Izuku carefully steps forward.

Approaching the mouth of the hallway, Izuku stops, craning his neck forward to inspect who it could be.

Spotting the broccoli-headed teenager, the stranger calls out to him in a familiar, shrill voice before Izuku can even identify who they are, “Hey! Deku! Glad to see you’re alright!”

Inko looks over at Izuku in the hallway before smiling.

“Oh Izuku! Look who it is! One of your friends stopped by!”

Standing in front of Inko, Denki Kaminari waves at Izuku. Dressed in an unbuttoned gray jacket, revealing a white shirt paired with a red tie underneath, Kaminari looks incredibly chic.

At least, to Izuku he does.

As the two friends approach each other, Denki offers a hand to Izuku. Reaching forward, Izuku is dragged along into a clumsy attempt at a three-part handshake ending in a knuckle-bump.

Clearly Izuku’s first time doing so.

_Good thing he did it so quickly! Otherwise I would have stuck straight to him!_

Raising an eyebrow, Denki eyes up his friend.

“I heard you had quite a predicament after you left last night! None of us could get through to you, Uraraka thought something was up as soon as you never responded to her texts,” he explains.

“Ochaco tried to… text me?” Izuku bumbles out, bashful to ask. His eyes dart to his side, already hidden by his green mop of hair, now extra hidden behind a shy expression.

“Sure! We all did! Wanted to make sure you were all good!” Denki exclaims, failing to notice Izuku’s blatant crush, or even the recent developments in his eyes.

“Oh, oh yeah…” Izuku stutters his way forward, Inko cringing behind Denki’s back at how awkward her son is. 

“I’m okay now though, don’t worry! You can uh… follow me to my room?” Izuku asks, slightly leaning to the side in order to inspect his mother’s reaction. After Inko flashes two thumbs up, Izuku returns to his normal stance, too sheepish to look his blonde friend in the eyes.

“Sure!” Denki obliviously agrees.

Leading Denki into the hallway and towards his room, the two teenagers exit the scene.

Inko sighs, placing her head in her hands.

_I really should have taught him more social skills._


	14. Amped Up

“Huh, big fan of All Might, aren’t you?” Denki remarks, analyzing the plethora of star-spangled All Might merchandise.

“Y-Yeah, sorry about that, I was a bit obsessed as a kid…” Izuku bashfully admits, scratching the back of his head with embarrassment.

Picking up an All Might figurine from Izuku’s desk, Denki carefully wobbles its right arm, “Oh, no sweat dude! I’m pretty sure everyone this side of Tokyo is a huge fan. Everyone had one of these!” Smiling at Izuku while holding the figurine inches from his freckled face, Denki’s enthusiasm relaxes Izuku’s concerns.

Placing it back down on the desk, Denki continues, “You have to come over some time, _All Might’s Legendary Conquest_ is practically calling your name!” Izuku continues to scratch his head with anxious embarrassment.

“I-I’ve never really had a… friend visit me before,” Izuku admits out loud.

His face flushes red as soon as he finishes the statement.

Denki freezes momentarily.

Turning towards Izuku, Kaminari’s eyebrows are raised in a shocked yet kind expression, amazed at Izuku's honesty.

“Well, I’m glad I can be the first,” His words oozing with surprising compassion, “I just had to check up on you after the news last night. Ochaco couldn’t come today, still had to make up some work she missed after Katsuki…” Shifting in place, Kaminari bites his lip before finishing the sentence.

“And Kirishima had to go to a mandatory community service course. Got in a lick of trouble for his actions a few weeks ago, him partaking in the Raid without approval landed him in some major disciplinary action. Regardless, last night, Ochaco left not long after you did. Kirishima stuck around and stayed the night, we both tried to get in contact with you when we saw the news. Helluva night, right?”

_News?_

_O-Oh wait… That’s right! That’s how mom learned of what Mr. Aizawa did and where I was._

“Y-Yeah…” Izuku bows his head, unsure of how to reply. _It had certainly been a hell of a night._

“If… you don’t mind me asking,” Denki continues, hanging upon the ‘if’ for a few seconds, “what’s up with the eyes?” Gesturing to his own golden eyes, the suave teen leans against the wall.

_Crap. He noticed!_

Looking up, Izuku hides nothing from Kaminari.

Giving his friend ample time to inspect his recent anatomical developments, Izuku stands in silence.

“Well, I’ll be damned… That’s something… Is that-Is that new? Or has that been your quirk all along and I just… didn’t notice,” Denki chokes out, embarrassed at his own presumed obliviousness.

_Oh crap. How do I respond to that?_

Izuku stumbles in place, searching for a possible answer.

“ImnotreallysureifImallowedtotalkaboutthisbutitsreallyjustalottocoverandIdoubtyoureallywanttohearaboutitbutifyoudobasicallywhathappenedis” Izuku mumbles incoherently, his head lost within the clouds.

Denki looks at his friend with a concerned expression.

_Kid’s got a lot on his mind, that’s for sure._

“Alright, I’ll stop you there. Let’s cut to the chase, okay buddy?” Kaminari clutches Izuku’s arms, holding him in place in order to calm his bumbling friend. Izuku practically vibrates with nervous excitement.

“Let’s try this again, okay Deku?” Denki follows up with, snapping his fingers before Izuku’s eyes to spark a reaction. Shaking his head, Izuku nods in a quiet reaction.

“O-Okay, so…” Izuku’s face slowly tightens, his bottom lip curling into his mouth.

Denki looks at him, their eyes matching.

“Come on Deku, I know you didn’t have _these_ the last time I saw you,” Kaminari enunciates, tapping Izuku’s cheek next to the sides of his eyes.

“Okay!” Izuku exclaims, huffing out a big breath.

_Am I really going to…_

Inspecting Kaminari, thoughts flash and vanish throughout Izuku’s mind. Formerly quirkless, changed as of yesterday, trying to explain his life story to the formally enrolled UA hero-in-trainning.

_Well…_

_Here goes nothing._

Slowly stepping towards his bed and taking a gentle seat on the blue comforter, Izuku looks up at Kaminari. Leaning against the wall, Kaminari’s grey uniform, the symbol of UA, seemingly shines in the light.

“K-K… Kaminari?” Izuku asks, his voice cracking and shaking from the stress.

“Yeah?”

“I am… was… I _was_ quirkless. Born without one, never inherited one, never grew one. Completely… A- _Average_.”

Kaminari’s eyes widen, pushing his back off from the wall.

“Quirkless? Then… How?” He asks, gently raising a finger as an inquiry to Izuku’s eyes.

“I… _Was_ quirkless… As of last night, I am now… Quirked?” Izuku raises his head, inspecting Kaminari with his quartered vision.

Taking a step back, Denki furrows his brows in confusion.

“So you never developed one, right? That’s what you said? So… This whole thing, this whole… Octuplet deal, isn’t just a late onset quirk? Cause I hear that can happen, ya know? Somebody wakes up, finds a new toe or somethin’, bam! Quirked!” The blonde teen rambles, speaking with heavy hand movements and enunciated syllables.

“N-No… I know what this is from”, Izuku curls his fingers into his palm, clenching it into a fist.

“So, what was it then?”

“I only learned of this this morning but… Have you heard of the... the drug _Trigger_?”

Kaminari’s eyes widen again, eyebrows raising. 

“ _Drug?_ Izuku, what does this even mean!” Kaminari exclaims, clutching his head in his hands, confused at his seemingly bashful friend admitting to be a hard-drug user.

“N-No! Not like that! It…” Izuku stumbles in his words, realizing the scope of what had just happened to him.

Biting his lip, Izuku blankly stares forward.

Chiyo’s words flash within his mind.

_“With your son being quirkless, and the amount he was forced to take in by the villain…”_

_Forced._

Head in his hands, Denki looks up, mouth agape with shock at the sudden ceasing of information.

“Is that the Trigger kicking in?” He asks, only semi-joking.

“N… No.” Izuku turns his gaze towards Kaminari, tears bubbling in the corner of his eyes.

“I was… _Forced_ ,” is all Izuku can blurt out, his voice choking into itself.

Kaminari’s gaze turns towards the ground, his expression turning from one of disgusted shock to one of sudden sympathy.

_Forced._

Craning his head towards Izuku, Kaminari studies Izuku from head to toe.

Stepping forward, Denki approaches Izuku as he chokes back tears. Sitting next to him, Kaminari wraps an arm around Izuku, pulling his new friend towards him.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re fine kid, trust me! Ain’t no judgement from me, not anymore. I didn’t know the situation, I’m sorry for leaping to assumptions,” Kaminari offers with sympathy, trying to address Izuku’s concerns.

Biting his lips and turning to look at Kaminari, Izuku nods.

“Hey! Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing after all,” Kaminari continues, “I know the circumstance behind your quirk… Frankly sucks, sure, but who’s to say you can’t make light of a bad situation!” Denki’s sparkling smile cheers Izuku up, eliciting a chuckle from the freckled teen.

“Quirks tend to have shaky starts anyways, you heard Kirishima’s story, practically sliced his own head open,” Kaminari states before standing up from the bed.

“And based off the amount of All Might memorabilia located within one bedroom, I’ll run with the assumption somebody here wanted to be a hero!” Kaminari exclaims, throwing his arms open as if to envelop the collection of action figures, posters, and films within his grip.

“Y-Yeah! I mean, yeah, I always did want to be one,” Izuku sheepishly smiles to Kaminari.

“Well, what do you know about your quirk so far?”

“Uh…” Izuku’s mind races for options to show off, “I got these funky new eyes? I can see four images at once, kind of like eight eyes, speeding up my reaction time apparently,” Izuku explains.

Kaminari puckers his lips and nods, “Interesting, interesting… Is that all?”

“N-No! I can also – uh – I can also do this?”

Izuku leaps into the air, propelling himself from his bed, attaching himself to his ceiling. Clinging to the ceiling, Izuku’s vision wobbles.

_Oh god, oh crap. Never tried to do that by choice before!_

Kaminari stares at the ceiling, now adorned with his friend.

“Holy crap dude! That’s freakin’ sick!” Kaminari explains, a smile breaking across his face.

Filled with enthusiasm, Izuku lifts his head, pointing his gaze downwards towards his friend.

“And… This!” He exclaims, attempting to prevent the dizziness from getting to him.

Curling his middle and ring finger towards his palm, the spinneret on his wrist blasts a stringy strand of silk, smacking against the All Might figure on the desk. Pulling his elbow back, the figurine goes flying towards Izuku.

Startled by the speed of the figurine, Izuku throws his other arm out, grabbing the sticky figurine. Holding his hand out, clutching his childhood toy, Izuku fails to realize that his arms are no longer supporting his grip on his ceiling.

Looking to his feet, Izuku crouches, the concept that he is simply squatting on the ceiling momentarily evading thought.

_Wait..._

_I can do that?_

Izuku chuckles with excitement, studying how his toes clutch to the plaster of the ceiling.

Kaminari stares upwards at Izuku, flabbergasted.

A few seconds pass.

“ ** _HOLY SHIT!_** ” Kaminari exclaims.

At the sudden scream, Izuku’s balance wobbles, his feet detaching from the ceiling. Tearing chunks of plaster from the ceiling, he falls towards his bed. Now chipped, two footprints have torn sections of the white plaster off the ceiling’s surface.

Plummeting towards the bed, Izuku’s mind races with sudden options.

_We don’t want to repeat another crash like in Recovery Girl’s house!_

Looking towards the ceiling, a thought blasts into Izuku’s head. As Kaminari watches with astonishment, within milliseconds of Izuku’s initial descent, the nimble teenager shoots another silky strand of web towards the ceiling, grabbing onto it with his hands.

**_THWIP!_ **

Coming to a sudden, jolting stop centimeters above the bed, Izuku dangles from the ceiling, hands and feet clutched around the naturally produced silk.

Turning his gaze towards Kaminari, Izuku goofily smiles, suspended vertically in the air.

Kaminari stands, dumbfounded.

“This… This is a quirk alright… That’s… Wow!” Kaminari, for once, stumbles on his own words, unable to act cool.

“I’ve seen plenty in my brief life but that… That can take you somewhere!” Kaminari continues. “It needs a snappy name, something good, whatcha got so far?” He snaps his finger, sparks of electricity jolting between his thumb and finger.

“We’ve dubbed it ‘Arachno-Sensation’!” Izuku happily boasts, brimming with energy.

“Oh, that's good. Sounds scientific but 'sensational'. But uh, ’We’, huh? Who’s the other?” Kaminari curiously asks.

Without thinking, Izuku enthusiastically marches on, “Mr. Eraserhead! He’s the hero who saved me and helped me figure out what was happening to me! Exciting, right?” Izuku flashes a toothy grin at Kaminari, pulling his hands off of the silky strand to accentuate his excitement. He continues to dangle from nothing but the strand.

Denki stares back in disbelief, jaw agape.

“Why is it that every time you add an addendum to this story, more questions get raised?” The blonde responds.

Confused, Izuku furrows his brows.

“Izuku… You do know Eraserhead is no longer a hero, right?” Kaminari squints.

_What?_

“What do you mean?” Izuku asks, still perpendicular from the ground.

“He lost his hero license, pretty recently in fact. None of us know why but he suddenly dropped from UA and none of us have seen him since. You met Mr. Aizawa?” Kaminari asks with concern.

Dropping from the strand and onto his blue bed, Izuku shoots back up.

“Y-Yeah. He was…”

Considering Chiyo’s reaction to learning of Aizawa’s presence at Kacchan’s funeral, Izuku changes his response.

“He saved me, found me in the alley where I had been drugged,” Izuku elaborates. It’s all clicking now, all the weirdly ambiguous wording regarding Eraserhead by Aizawa and Chiyo, how he couldn’t be a legal sponsor for Izuku.

“That’s… Interesting,” Denki considers, furrowing his brows.

“Well… Regardless, it’s a good name. Snappy. The old man has that at least still going for him,” Kaminari settles.

“So, you found this out… What, this morning?” Kaminari asks.

“Yep, pretty sudden stuff,” Izuku responds, looking up at Denki.

“Well… I hate to break it to you but…” Kaminari stops in his tracks, looking at Izuku with concern. Izuku squints his eyes in response.

“Well, what?”

“You missed your time to apply. You’re 16, right?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Well, there’s an age limit on when you can apply to an academy like UA. Almost nobody gets a quirk past the age of 15 so your…. Outlier situation puts you at a disadvantage… But with a quirk like that!” Kaminari rambles to himself, amazed by Izuku’s development.

“No doubt you can find a sponsor, you just need some training and a proper title…” Kaminari continues to murmur to himself.

Stopping in his tracks and turning his attention firmly to Izuku, Denki stares at him, his lips slowly curling into a devilish smile.

“W-What?”

“You want to train, right?”

“Well, if it means I can become a hero, sure!”

Kaminari licks his lips, pinching his chin as he thinks.

“I got an idea. How ‘bout this: I have access to the greatest hero training grounds in the nation at any time I want, I find a way to sneak you in, you can train with me! Bam! Two for one training! We both get better, together!” Kaminari snaps his fingers, forming two sizzling finger guns as he smiles.

“What do you mean? Training grounds?” Izuku replies.

Cocking his head in disappointment, Denki stiffens up. Gesturing to his uniform with an open palm, he stares at Izuku with a blank expression.

“UA. I can find a way to bring you to UA.”

Upon hearing the words _“I can bring you to UA”_ , Izuku’s eyes widen with excitement.

" _NO WAY!_ I can go to UA??"

"Well, not as an official student you can't," Kaminari cuts through his freckled friends joy. 

"But, a friend of mine owes me a favor and I think she's our best bet to get you in. Leave it to me, I can handle this," Kaminari coolly explains with a smile.

“You sure about this?”

“Sure!!!! Probably easy as cake! Besides, somehow the press got in this year, and if a few crummy little journalists can sneak their way in, how hard could it be to get a genuine… Spider… Boy? Spider-Boy?” Kaminari stops to consider a possible title.

“Yeah, we’ll just run with that for now,” He settles.

 _I guess it’s different enough from Spider-Man_ , Izuku considers.

**_KNOCK-KNOCK._ **

Izuku and Kaminari both turn their heads as the door suddenly jolts with sound.

“Izuku? Is your friend good? Does he need any snacks? I have celery and peanut butter if he wants anything!” Inko kindly exclaims, her maternal instincts kicking in.

Kaminari squints at the door.

_Do I want celery…_

Turning to Izuku, Kaminari checks his phone.

4:34 PM.

Looking at Izuku, Kaminari shrugs.

“Sorry Deku but it looks like I gotta head back now, dad mandates I get back before 5. Worried I’m some kind of varmint if I’m out past that. Here, let’s make a plan!” His eyes briefly squint, determined to have his plan come to fruition.

“Uh… I’ll probably be out of class for a few days.. What’s today?”

“Tuesday”

“Okay… So, I’ll probably be back in school by Friday, if that helps.”

“Perfect! Friday it is!” Kaminari explains, heading towards the door.

“W-Wait! What do I do?”

“Just head to my house at… Let’s go for 7? Yeah, 7!” Kaminari responds.

“But didn’t you just say your dad gets mad at you if you’re out past 5?”

“Yep! It’ll all make sense soon, don’t worry! Just, my house, Friday, at 7! Got it?” Kaminari chaotically finishes his thought, opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

From the open gap between the door and the hallway, Izuku can hear his mother talk to his new training buddy.

“I’d love some celery Mrs. Midoriya! I’m famished!”

Leaning back and spreading himself across the comforter of the bed, Izuku sighs.

_What else could today bring?_

**_KNOCK._ **

Something knocks against his window.

Turning his head, Izuku tries to inspect the area outside.

**_KNOCK._ **

Standing up, Izuku curiously approaches the glass pane, looking over his shoulder to see if his mother is nearby.

_Is this Kaminari’s doing? Already?_

The strand of silk above his bed continues to dangle from the ceiling.

**_KNOCK._ **

Approaching the window, Izuku slowly pushes the pane open with a ceramic _Pop!_

Crouched outside his window, leaning on the concrete frame surrounding the glass pane, Mr. Aizawa gazes at Izuku, his eyes bloodshot and red.

“Young Midoriya, I have some words for you.”


	15. Covenant

_Can’t believe I’m doing this._

Crouched outside Izuku Midoriya’s window, Aizawa creeps, his head hung low, peering at the concrete windowsill below his feet.

_This is completely irrational._

His breath trails slow and labored, black hair concealing his face as it dangles, hiding his aged features.

A cold wind drifts through the air, the mark of a February evening. The slightest of breezes gently sways the inky strands atop his head, revealing the old hero’s scarred face.

His burning red eyes sizzle with exhaustion.

_You were once like him, Old Man._

_Never forget that._

Releasing a deep breath, the man cranes his neck back to a neutral position. Twisting his neck, the popping of vertebra serves as a precursor to his next actions.

Strangely enough, for the first time in years, Aizawa feels something he thought he lost.

_Fear._

Reaching a bandaged hand out, his hand gently twitches with hesitation. It wavers in the air, his split knuckles and bruised palms staring right back at him.

Stomaching his pride, he tightens his spindly, bony fingers into a fist and knocks gently against the glass.

**_KNOCK._ **

_He left Chiyo’s around two hours ago._

Sitting in hushed silence, Aizawa remains curled along Izuku's windowsill as if a gargoyle, overlooking the lower class family. The wind gently howls through the concrete tributes of industrialized Japan.

**_KNOCK._ **

_He should be here by now… Back home._

Aizawa’s jet black hair whips through the air, entranced by the wind’s song. Slithering, the black snakes dance to their charmer’s command.

His face is thoroughly wind-whipped.

Bandaged, gauzed, and scabbed, Aizawa has seen better days.

Reaching his gnarled hand out again, he keeps his fist clenched.

_Fingers sticking. Joints are getting old._

_This damned cold._

With a sigh, his breath trails out in a pale fog.

**_KNOCK._ **

A popping sound is heard.

The window slides open, revealing the confused gaze of the boy Aizawa came to see. Dressed in a plain white undershirt and the same black pants as the day before, Izuku stares at Aizawa with an expression of simultaneous amazement and shock.

Meeting the kid’s eyeline, Aizawa’s eyes feel heavy. Tired. Even more so than usual. 

_What hell you’ve been through, kid._

“Young Midoriya, I have some words for you,” he exhaustedly spits out, an ominous conversation-starter. Aizawa’s specialty.

Looking over his shoulder, Izuku inspects the door behind him, presumably to the hallway of his family’s apartment. Still a smidge open, Izuku gestures with his finger to keep quiet.

_Really kid? Shushing a professional like that…_

Rolling his eyes, Aizawa sits in silence, still waiting for his invitation to enter. Creeping to the door, Izuku closes the door with the back of his left hand. Waiting for the distinctive click of a job well done, Izuku then turns and gestures for the hero to step inside.

Receiving the okay, as if a vampire, Aizawa shifts his weight and moves to enter the room.

Stepping from the windowsill onto the carpet, Aizawa’s tired eyes adapt and accommodate to the blindingly vibrant colors of the All-Might speckled room.

_Jeez. What a fanboy…_

A strand of thick silk dangles from the ceiling, directly over Izuku’s bed. Torn plaster from the ceiling reveals two footprints.

_Testing his quirk, I see._

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, mostly as an effort to warm his old joints, Aizawa stands nonchalantly in the teenagers room.

Izuku looks at him, biting his lip in anticipation of what he could say.

Stepping to the bed, Aizawa reaches a hand out and gently drags his fingers across the sticky silk rope. 

“I see you’ve been experimenting.” Aizawa runs the silk through a closed hand, studying its composition.

"Having difficulty adjusting?" Aizawa asks without turning an eye towards the kid. He’s more focused on the silky strand.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been… testing it out, you could say. I keep, uh, tearing holes into things… With my fingertips… And I guess my toes too,” Izuku admits, clutching his left arm with his right. His unique expression of embarrassment.

“And what have you learned?” Aizawa replies, gently raising the end of the strand to be held with both hands. Testing its weight, grip, and strength, Aizawa curiously examines every possible trait.

“I can… grab things from far away if, if I aim at it,” Izuku explains, looking at the spinnerets on his wrists, “like with my webs.”

_Not unlike my restraining bond…_

“Your tensile grip will have to be the first thing you’ll have to work on. You can’t get by through life without grasping things,” Aizawa states, turning towards Izuku. “And don’t tell me you can’t control it. None of us could control our quirk at first,” he adds on, nipping Izuku’s following comment in the bud.

“Practice. Grab things, then drop them. Again and again. As many times as possible, until you learn the limits and rules of your quirk. We can worry about the others later,” Aizawa instructs Izuku, with a tone of voice as if he was teaching a child.

Approaching his bed, Izuku takes a seat atop the blue comforter.

“We?” Izuku follows with. Aizawa’s thoughts skid to a sudden stop.

Attempting to hide his expression, his eyelids only slightly raise.

_Shit, the kid caught me. I didn’t even mean to say that…_

Sending the cogs of his mind into overdrive, Aizawa jolts out a sudden response, “Chiyo and I. We have to keep you under our watch, at least for now. This way we know you can adapt to society with your newfound power, especially due to its… source.”

Izuku drops his head, turning his gaze towards the ground. His fists clench.

Noticing Izuku’s discomfort at the source of his long-awaited power, Aizawa turns to Izuku.

“This… This will not comfort you as you probably hoped it would. But, the source of your quirk, it is a grievous concern of mine,” Aizawa honestly states.

“It’s only rational that we discuss this, even if it isn't pretty,” Aizawa follows up, turning his crimson gaze towards Izuku.

“The circumstances of your quirk designate you as… Illegal. At least in the government’s eyes.”

Izuku stares blankly at the ground, still sitting on his bed.

“In objective terms, you qualify as what the media have declared as ‘Instant Villains’. Trigger users willing to eschew human decency and their own genetic code to exacerbate their abilities. I know the truth of your abilities,” Aizawa bluntly states.

“You’re not human anymore. You aren’t, you're something new. A mutate, a forced transformation in a human body. You didn't naturally adapt to a quirk, a hidden fragment in your DNA which surfaced at a young age. No, Trigger brute forced its way and altered your genetic code. You’re not like the rest of us and everyone around you is desperate to know that, even if they aren’t aware of it,” Aizawa brusquely comments.

Izuku’s fists clench tighter, his nails digging into the skin of his palms.

“No one develops a quirk at your age, even those with late onset quirks. Izuku Midoriya, you are completely unique. There has never been a case like you.”

Izuku clenches tightly onto the comforter of his bed.

“And that makes you stronger than the rest of us. You've already demonstrated a stronger conviction than most professionals, surviving the events of last night.”

Stepping towards Izuku, Aizawa looks down at the kid, his gaze carrying a heavier weight than usual.

“You decide who you are. Not those who developed Trigger, not the government, and certainly not someone like me.”

Looking up at the former professional, Aizawa is surprised to find Izuku’s expression to be one of undeterred determination. Staring into Aizawa’s spirit, his divided irises strike a chord with the grizzled veteran.

_That determination…_

_That fire…_

_That heroism._

Izuku’s burning gaze powers through Aizawa’s crimson visage.

“I know you’re not a hero,” Izuku cuts through the air with.

Aizawa fails to hide his expression, his eyes jolting open with shock.

_What’s with this kid and surprises?_

“I know you lost your certification, your permit. I know that, when you saved me, you were breaking the law. I know what you are,” Izuku breaks Aizawa’s gaze, unable to keep eye contact as he extrapolates the truth.

Aizawa is frozen in place.

_This kid._

“You’re a vigilante. You break the law in order to be a hero, without a permit or government permission,” Izuku turns his gaze upwards, “and if I can’t secure a permit or the ability to be a hero because of my quirk, then I want to be a vigilante as well!”

Raising his eyes to meet Aizawa's, Izuku's eyes strain with searing passion.

Izuku’s determined expression and heroic words drive a burning hot stake into Aizawa’s cold heart.

“Kid, you’re asking for a lot. You don’t know what you’ll find out th-” Aizawa attempts to deny Izuku.

Shooting up from his previously seated position on the bed, Izuku interrupts the former hero.

“No! I know! I know what’s out there!” Izuku exclaims, snapping at Aizawa.

“I know exactly what’s out there! I saw its ugly face last night! And in my own way, I came out on top! I know what’s out there!” Izuku screams at Aizawa, hot tears bubbling from the corners of his eyes.

Aizawa is shocked at his passion.

“Kacchan knew what was out there!” Izuku follows his comments with a sucker punch.

“And if he could do what he did, then I should too!” He rebukes Aizawa’s concerns.

Breathing heavily, Izuku lets out a few passionate breaths.

“And you said it yourself: I choose what I want to be. And if everyone else won’t let me be me on their terms, I’ll be me on my own terms,” Izuku passionately asserts, clenching his fist by his side.

“I’ve had to play by their rules my whole life. Now I get to make the decisions for myself,” Izuku declares, huffing.

Shocked, Aizawa’s whole view of Izuku has been thrown for a tailspin.

The quirkless boy, desperately clutching for a chance for heroism, now a burning hot ball of passion, the greatest hero in the making.

“I’ve seen your heroism before… Even before your quirk, you threw yourself into action. There was no chance you could win that fight. There was nothing to gain, no reward. Yet you acted with the heart of a hero,” Aizawa comments on Izuku’s heroic demeanor.

“Izuku Midoriya, I was right. I was right when I said you would never be a hero. You’ll never be a professional hero,” Aizawa analyzes the increasingly rebellious teenager.

“But you sure as hell can be a vigilante,” Aizawa finalizes his assessment.

Looking up at Aizawa, Izuku’s eyes widen in shock, surprised at the cold-hearted man’s strangely warm assertion.

“Izuku Midoriya. Will you accept my offer?” Aizawa asks, clearing his throat. Confused, Izuku keeps his eyes locked on Aizawa.

“Learn under my tutelage and become a vigilante unlike anything the world has seen. Become who you were meant to be. You can become your own hero, beyond society's limitations,” Aizawa offers, reaching a bandaged hand out to the heroic teenager.

Staggering, Izuku’s eyes bubble with even more hot tears, amazed at Aizawa’s offer.

His legs turning to jelly, Izuku collapses to his knees, stretching a hand out to prop himself up. Choking back the tears that so desperately try to break Izuku’s defenses, the kids hand wavers wildly through the air in a vain attempt to make contact with Aizawa's.

Looking up, Izuku's face has flushed red with emotion, tears streaming from his face. With one final thrust of effort, Izuku swings his shaking arm forward, grasping Aizawa's bandaged hand.

The two shake on the deal.

Nodding, Aizawa looks down at the overjoyed teenager with a smirk.

“Take your time, rest for now. I will be in contact with you soon. I will teach you everything you need to know. Professional etiquette, combat skills, methods to save others, everything a proper and rational vigilante excels in. Going forward, you must avoid speaking about your quirk to others. Besides your mother and yourself, you must exercise caution to who you tell, and especially regarding its origins. It's best to do so if you wish to remain safe,” Aizawa explains. Izuku wipes the tears from his face, keeping his gaze locked onto his new mentor. 

Silently gulping, the teenagers stomach drops upon hearing the last comment. 

_What about Kaminari?_

“But for now, just rest. And most importantly, take a shower. You reek,” Aizawa finishes his life-changing declaration. Aizawa's comment knocks Izuku back into consciousness. Grabbing onto his shirt, Izuku's eyes widen with embarrassment.

Approaching the open window, Aizawa leaps outside onto his concrete perch. Looking back over his shoulder, he nods at Izuku before leaping into the sullen darkness of that February night.

Staring out of his window, Izuku watches Eraserhead swing between building to building with his restraining bond, eventually his shadow being enveloped with the inky blackness of the moonlit night.

Clutching a fist and pulling it to the side of his chest, Izuku exhales a deep breath with closed eyes. Gazing out the window, his freckles are lit with a faint moonglow, his eyes glimmering in the darkness.

_Izuku Midoriya._

_The high-school vigilante._


	16. Restless

_How long has it been?_

_Feels like weeks at this point…_

_God, I'm so tired..._

Splayed across his comforter, Izuku lays limply across his bed, his exhausted gaze locked on his ceiling. Chips in the white plaster directly above him reveal the outline of a footprint.

 _His_ footprint – the plaster having been torn off earlier that week during Kaminari’s visit.

A memorial to his last good sleep.

The halogen lights of nearby billboards cast their saturated hues through Izuku’s open window, painting him with a pallet of hot pinks, baby blues, and vibrant purples. Faint moonlight struggles to compete with its industrial counterpart, the faint white light strangled out by its neon opponent.

Izuku’s ear is caught on the music of Japanese urban life, always the hustle and bustle, even at this ungodly hour. Ever since the air conditioner broke, Izuku has had to make the necessary sacrifice of listening to the metropolitan lullaby nightly or risk being baked in his bedsheets. 

His freckled skin glistens from sweat - dressed in nothing but his boxers, his body continues to tense up and stiffen from constant overstimulation, the result of a body unused to its quirk. 

With shallow breaths, Izuku clutches to the sheets of his bed below him. Held tightly in his grip, Izuku clutches with grave determination, tightening his hold on the fabric when another wave of anxiety strikes him.

Izuku is absolutely _desperate_ for some shut-eye.

_Every time I try…_

Dragging themselves slowly across his bloodshot eyes, Izuku’s eyelids grow heavy with the weight of an anvil. His eyes sealing themselves shut, his weary body slowly slips into a slumber…

Until it jostles itself awake, his body tensing up as if suddenly shocked.

Thrusting his stomach into the air and recoiling his back into an arc, his eyelids jolt open. Every strand of hair across his body stands on end, the burning sensation practically singeing dozens of small holes across his pale complexion. His sheets wrinkle and shift with each of his movements.

Falling backwards onto the bed with splayed limbs, Izuku limply collapses into the same position as before. Groaning, the burning sensation subsides, giving way to the unpleasant aches and soreness now consuming his sweaty body.

The sheets below him stick to his moist skin, his body simply too fatigued to challenge the grasp of their linen folds.

His eyes throb, the result of multiple sleepless nights. His pupils once again lock onto the chiseled image of his footprints above him.

 _What… Is there to be afraid of?_ He asks his body, hoping his thoughts could provoke a response.

Even the most minute things spark a reaction.

A car honking outside. The slamming of a door.

A fly buzzing by. The static of a TV.

_That’s how it feels… TV Static…_

His brain thumps with overwhelming sensation as if possessed by its own heartbeat. When it isn’t sent into overdrive, his mind feels… _fuzzy_.

Like a TV searching for a channel it just can’t find.

For something he’d longed for his whole life, Izuku sure isn’t delighted to have a quirk right now.

Besides, he’d never even considered the possible side-effects of a quirk, the downsides, the growing pains.

Looking back, this may have been a slight oversight on his part.

However, not everything was detriments and disappointments.

His tensile grip had improved somewhat over the last few days at least, especially when compared to Tuesday. Sometimes he’d be able to pop his fingers off whatever he was holding without any damage or even grab something without sticking.

_Sometimes._

But this damn “Arachno-Sensation”? This “sixth-sense”?

This will take time to get used to.

At first, Recovery Girl thought the “sense” was based on Izuku’s eyes, a processing of information before the image ever rendered within his vision, but something about that just didn’t seem to line up.

_If it was all based on my vision then why is it keeping me up at night?_

Izuku’s frustration bubbles up from the tips of his toes to the core of his gut. Letting out an exhaustive sigh, Izuku is simply too drained to sustain such anger at the moment.

_Now… Wait, what time even is it?_

On a night like this, with little to no sleep, he’d already have been on his phone by now.

That is, if he still had one.

Whatever happened to it, Aizawa said it was crushed under the boot of the villain Monday night.

Izuku had his own suspicions however, _especially_ after listening in on the vigilante’s conversations with Recovery Girl.

Now, phoneless and numb from the constant stimulation, Izuku was just alone, left with his thoughts and trapped in an anxious body.

_Ironic._

He always thought having a quirk would make his body stronger. Now he’s just a shambling mess.

Tensely turning over onto his side, the thin blue sheet drags along with his hand, practically glued to his fingertips. All he can muster up is a slight sigh of minor inconvenience.

In the distance, an ambulance’s siren blares, echoing between the concrete streets.

His body jolts in place again, the powerful tingling sensation shooting down his body from the back of his neck. Kicking a leg out, his muscles tense up. Slowly returning to a relaxed state, his leg falls back towards the comfort of the mattress, limp.

Izuku has had enough.

Pushing himself to the edge of his bed with his elbows, the sheet silently pleading to go with, Izuku sticks a leg out and plants the ball of his foot against the carpet. The sensation of polyester against his flesh sends a minor reaction up his spine.

The shock travels through his body, sending the sheet harmlessly drifting to the floor, having gently loosened itself from his grip.

Pushing himself up, Izuku stumbles to his feet, his fatigued body three times as heavy as usual. Barely balancing, his tired eyes scour his neon-lit room.

_You want to be awake that bad? Fine, we’re awake._

“Three nights in a row, you have to be kidding me…” the teenager grumbles to himself under his breath.

Izuku stumbles his way through his room, his head in his hands. Running his fingers through his hair, he thankfully has enough control of his grip to not tear huge green clots from his head.

Struggling to keep his exhausted eyes open, he closes them, letting his body lead the way.

_You wanted to be up, we’re up. You handle the rest from here._

Blindly stepping through his room, letting his feet feel their way across familiar ground, he steps through a dream. Behind his closed eyes, the pale light of the outside world surrounds him, its neon hues coaxing him ever closer.

Entranced, he mindlessly approaches the light. Gently shifting his hand to rest on the back of his neck, the pads of his fingertips tap against his delicately pale skin.

Dragging his feet forward across the carpet floor, his toes gently brush against a hard surface.

Opening his eyes, Izuku is met with the open windowsill and the chilled breeze of late winter rustling his hair. Directly in front of the wall, his feet rest against the hard surface of cheap plaster.

Across from Izuku, framed by the open windowsill, a bright neon billboard rests against the side of a much larger skyscraper, directly facing the teenager.

Smiling to the outside world, the brilliant visage of All Might peers at Izuku with an outstretched thumbs up. Lit by vibrant blues, yellows, and reds, All Might’s one of a kind smile shines like a beacon in the dark night.

Below him, in red bold text, “Thank you for your service, All Might!”

The illumination of the billboard reflects the former number one hero’s visage across Izuku’s divided irises, the energy of his beaming idol’s face seemingly miles from Deku’s blood shot gaze.

Staring at the smile of his esteemed role model, Izuku can’t help but feel… _empty._

The billboard flares, changing images to just another consumerist advertisement.

_Just like that, the Symbol of Peace swept away.  
_

_All Might is no more._

With a searing pain, Izuku wipes the sides of his eyes with his thumb, preventing himself from crying. His eyes already burn enough as it is.

Turning his back to the window, Izuku walks towards his bed. Stopping inches from its foot, Izuku feels uneasy. As if something was watching him, burning their gaze into the back of his head.

Confused, Izuku turns to inspect the source of this feeling.

Across from him, littering his walls and shelves, the image of All Might. Contained in plastic wrap, as an action figure, a drawing on the wall, or as an article of clothing. The Symbol of Peace’s image is all encompassing, and his hundreds of artificial eyes are peering at Izuku.

Izuku’s stomach curls. His role model, the man he had admired for so long, is truly and properly _gone_. He had never really stopped to consider this fact.

There had just been too much to mourn.

Kacchan. Kamino Ward. And, All Might?

The memories flood Izuku’s mind: The All Might onesie Inko had picked out for him. The action figure he always carried. Even his proposed costume if he ever got a quirk was based on him.

It was all striking at once, like targeted blows against a vulnerable soft-spot.  
  
For all the suffering he had prolonged during his shaky childhood, All Might was there. It was like losing a security blanket, all sense of stability suddenly lost.

Izuku’s legs transform into jelly, collapsing backwards onto the bed. The air is sucked from his chest. The hairs across his body stand on end.

As the anxiety began to consume him, internally it all clicked. Everything was sparking a reaction because now, without All Might, everything was _terrifying._

And now Izuku had agreed to become a vigilante? To roam the streets fighting crime?

Choking on his breath, Izuku clutches at his neck, his fingernails digging into his soft flesh. His burning eyes bounce around his eyes incessantly, scanning every little nook and cranny. How could he fight back or even react to such a feeling of dread?

All he knew was how to run, to hide from fear.

Pushing himself off of his bed, Izuku’s palm tears a hand-sized chunk from his blue sheets. Stumbling against the wall, propping himself up with just an elbow, he gasps.

He’s hyperventilating, choking on his own breath.

Looking for some form of solution, Izuku continues to limp his way through the room, grasping for any sense of security.

As his eyes dance across the room, the searing gaze of dozens of little All Mights, Izuku’s anxiety is sent into overdrive. 

**_Only know how to run._ **

His thoughts scream at him in the deep, iconic voice of All Might.

**_Never one to fight!_ **

A role model disappointed.

Turning his back to the spiteful cries of the All Might’s, Izuku scrambles to the windowsill, desperate for fresh air. Tumbling across his room, his awkward movements send him careening into the nightstand next to his bed, knocking the wooden table crashing onto its side.

Tripping over the nightstand, Izuku’s knees collide with the floor, his body lurching next to the wall uncomfortably. With scattered breaths, the desperate teenager feels his way across the wall. Softly grasping the ledge of his window, as Izuku’s breath shudders, the steely blue gaze of All Might still locked on him, the teenager pulls himself off of the floor of his room. 

Using his hands to support his weight, he holds himself up with locked elbows. Staring out his window, the cold air continues to blow through his air and against his searing eyes.

His words flare through his mind, the defiant screams he rebelliously challenged Aizawa’s assumptions with.

_“I know EXACTLY what’s out there!”_

Izuku’s breath slows, his panic slowly subsiding as he takes in the cold air of winter. His green hair falls across his face, the light of the billboard once again trickling across his pale body.

Pushing himself off of his hands, Izuku steps back from the nook in the wall where his windowsill is. Inspecting his palms, he reaches forward and tears the thin blue sheet from his right hand, letting the torn fragments fall to the floor.

Looking back towards the open window, the cycle of ads continues to run through its assorted allotment. Taking a step back, Izuku takes a deep breath, resting a hand against his chest.

_I know what’s out there.  
_

_I can’t keep running._

The billboard cycles to the next ad – a line of Endeavor endorsed work-out clothes.

Images of Kacchan blasting his way through the sports festival barge into Izuku’s mind. 

His friend was so similar to the new number one hero.

Fiery, hotheaded, determined. 

_Before I can prove myself to Aizawa, Kaminari, or anyone else, I have to prove it to myself._

A Mitsubishi ad.

The burning gaze of All Might remains locked on Izuku.

_I can be what he is._

A perfume ad – Coco Chanel.

The silence of the room is deafening.

_I can be All Might._

All Might’s neon smile once again reveals itself across the screen. Taking his cue, Izuku lets out a unprepared half-breath.

With little to no thought, his bare feet take off, scrambling across the polyester floor, tearing up small chunks of carpet.

As the windowsill rapidly approaches, Izuku hops with tremendous might, the pads of his feet landing on the edge of the sill.

Suddenly leaping off of the window itself, Izuku flies through the air, now fully exposed to the outside world. As the image of All Might’s smile transitions into just another advertisement, Izuku’s brain internalizes his current situation.

_I’m outside._

As the image changes, Izuku’s body begins to plummet, his jump failing to sustain enough force to propel him towards the billboard. Still wearing nothing but his boxers, Izuku’s bare body is nipped by the cold.

_I’m outside._

_I’m falling._

_I’m outside falling._

As Izuku tumbles through the air, the image of bright neon advertisements is now rapidly replaced by the image of the sidewalk below.

The sidewalk that’s growing startlingly close.

REALLY close.

Izuku reaches out with his hands, having failed to properly plan his course of action.

_Okay! Okay! I’m falling! But…_

Closing his eyes, Izuku considers the actions of other heroes.

_All Might would just land due to his natural shock absorption. Endeavor would melt the ground – Eraserhead could… Swing._

_Swing._

_Swing!!!_

_Like Eraserhead!_

_LIKE SPIDER-MAN!_

Opening his eyes, now just a few meters from colliding with the sidewalk, Izuku reaches out with a free hand.

With only the last few scavengers of late-night Musutafu remaining outside, a small crowd of people lock eyes on Izuku’s falling body, some even screaming at the scene before them.

With his free hand, Izuku presses his middle and index finger against the palm of his hand, with the rest of his fingers extended.

_Just like Spider-Man._

**_THWIP._ **

A torrent of short silky string blasts from the natural spinnerets on his wrist, colliding with an overhanging streetlight above the sidewalk.

Clutching the string with both hands and pulling himself closer to it, Izuku swings under the lamp like a pendulum.

Mere inches above the small crowd, Izuku’s boxers ripple from the wind.

Failing to let go of the strand, Izuku’s body is yanked back towards the stringy web, with the awkward jerks of his sudden motion sends Izuku into a near 360 over the streetlight.

With the strand of silk wrapping itself around the steel lamp, Izuku continues to spiral around the overhanging streetlight, clutching the web for dear life.

Slowly closing to a standstill, having spun around the lamp for who knows how many times, Izuku opens his eyes to find himself still clutching to the silk strand only mere feet from the ground. Below him, a small crowd of onlookers, confused and astounded by the teenager’s feat, stare at him.

To them, an unidentifiable child only in boxers just tried to leap out of a building to his demise before wrapping himself around a streetlamp. Obscured by his mop of hair, Izuku’s face is naturally hidden.

Besides, the amount of blood flushing to his head and reddening his cheeks guarantee his anonymity. 

Extremely embarrassed and even more exhausted, Izuku slowly climbs down the strand, ashamed at his impulsive actions.

Dropping from the streetlamp onto the sidewalk below, Izuku is observed from all sides by the crowd.

With dozens of real eyes now locked onto his nearly nude body, Izuku shamefully scampers off in embarrassment. Making his way back towards his apartment, he holds his hands next to his face in order to obscure his face from those around him.

_Stupid! Stupid! What about what Aizawa said! Keep it on the downlow!_

As Izuku marches his way down the street, the pads of his feet drag whatever pebble they find with him.

Izuku’s whole body has been flooded with red hues, a mix of natural reaction to the biting cold and shame.

As the boxered teen passes by a duo of onlookers, one of the two smirks at him, commenting with a snide voice, “Cool trick, kid.” As the young man snickers to himself, Izuku simply walks faster.

_Just had to keep me up at night, did you? Sleep deprivation, makes you stupid!_

As onlooker watch Izuku’s trot back to his room, the crowd discusses among themselves, “Did you see that?”, “That was nuts!”, “One helluva quirk, I’ll tell you that”.

Behind him, the strand of silk continues to dangle from the streetlight.

Below the strand, a lone civilian peers at it curiously, grasping the sticky silk with a free hand.


	17. Friday the 13th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this one took a while to write! Hope you enjoy!

“Contrary to public perception, the spider is far from the only order of animal classified as arachnid. I imagine you all have heard of scorpions? Much like spiders, scorpions have the familiar characteristics of eight legs and eight eyes but are noteworthy for their highly developed pedipalps and…”

The raspy, dry voice of the Musutafu Prefecture’s Public High School’s sole science teacher, Dr. Jacobsons, drifts through the air, settling along the ranks of his exhausted, bored, and outright disinterested students like dust on worn-out books.

Arranged in lines of eight with a total of four rows, barely half of the twenty-four wooden desks have found an occupant. Despite the class’ subject, the only visible signs that this is a science class are the notes on the chalkboard and a fogged-up glass tank containing a scruffy bearded dragon. The classroom’s white walls have long since faded into a slight beige, their only decorations being the last surviving remnants of admin-mandated policy posters. With crinkled cheap lamination, their commandments read:

_“No food or drink in the classroom.”_

_“No Quirk use in the classroom.”_

_“No phones in the classroom.”_

Among the students, an uncharacteristically tired Izuku Midoriya struggles to maintain an image of interest as his teacher’s lecture drones on. Scratching a mechanical pencil against paper in increasingly crooked sentences, the bags under his eyes and the fluttering of heavy eyelids betray Izuku’s best efforts at maintaining his role as the “Model Student”. His head sways to and fro, failing to maintain a steady balance – his body exhausted from multiple sleepless nights.

Snapping his head back into place and shaking himself awake, Izuku’s bloodshot eyes lazily scour his notes – _chicken scratch at best, illiterate at worst_. Ignoring the coincidental nature of today’s lecture, Izuku focuses all his efforts on capturing as much of his teachers’ words as possible.

Izuku’s fatigued mind is experiencing difficulty with even basic thoughts – asking him to spell “pedipalps” with his recently divided vision _and_ process his teachers lecture at the same time is maybe more than a little overkill. And that’s not even considering his mental gymnastics to avoid considering his immense embarrassment the night before. Lucky for him, his thick head of hair functioned as a wonderful concealer from the prying eyes of the late-night crowd.

Looking back, what even drove him to do something so _recklessly stupid?_

Izuku was not one known for brash behavior – far from it.

Izuku was always one to sit in the back of the class silent, too timid to even dare raise his hand, at least that’s how everyone else viewed him. To those who despised him, his quiet nature made him easy pickings.

And now, considering last night… In a strange sense, Izuku was kind of… glad? Maybe even a little proud?

He acted on his own, confronting a fear he didn’t even know he had, and certainly gained some practical experience from it. Crazy to consider how he’d so eagerly agreed to fight crime by Eraserhead’s side without even understanding his quirk.

The only point of reference he has is a dated superhero from the 1960’s, how was he supposed to know how people adapt to a quirk?

 _Guess we’re skipping baby steps and going straight to leapfrog_ , Izuku ponders, mindlessly chewing the eraser to his pencil.

_If last night was any indication, it’s clear I can swing like Spider-Man, but is that all? And how did he know when to let go? I just swung around that light pole like an idiot... How else can I-_

“Midoriya!” The raspy voice of his science teacher rings across the stained walls of the mostly empty room.

The sudden shock of his teacher’s announcement sparks the spine-tingling chill of Arachno-Sensation. At least Izuku is fully awake now.

Snapping back from his internal machinations to the reality of a dust-filled classroom, Izuku finds the eyes of his other classmates locked on him, guided by the searing gaze of one Doctor Aldrich Jacobsons.

As the old doctor adjusts his bifocals to get a better look at his student, he steps out from his position next to the chalkboard.

Dressed in a large tan overcoat atop an argyle sweater vest, Doctor Jacobsons, a former British doctor famed across the school for his thick cockney accent and unpleasant quirk, leans against his desk as he keeps his two slitted eyes on Izuku. With salt and peppered blonde hair, a thin face wracked with wrinkles, and two reptilian eyes magnified by bifocals, his teacher looks more like a science experiment than anything else in the room. Fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, a thin forked tongue flicks its way free from the man’s mouth, tasting the stale air as he continues to stare at Izuku.

“Welcome back to Earth. We’ve moved on from astronomy to biology, but if you’d like to discuss your ‘studies’ while you had your head in the clouds be my guest,” his teacher quips, having noticed Izuku’s lack of attention.

“I have only so many students show up to class anyways, making your attention _especially_ crucial. Now go on, I implore you to educate all of us on what was so special that it could draw your attention away from my lecture,” Dr. Jacobsons slick voice rings across the now especially silent room.

Startled, Izuku’s tired mind stutters in on itself.

Gesturing to Izuku from his desk, his teacher lowers his head, letting his glasses slip further down his thin nose, to peer at his student with his cold yellow eyes. His tongue once again flicks out from between his lips. The cold intimidation of authority.

The tension between the two is palpable.

“Go on then, Izuku,” the Doctor implores once again.

Stretching his shaking legs out, Izuku pushes himself up to his feet, sliding himself out from his desk to meet his teachers eyeline.

“U-uh…” Izuku murmurs, the eyes of his classmates still locked on him.

_Doctor Jacobsons never does this to me! I thought I was his favorite!_

Izuku’s face has quickly flushed bright pink from embarrassment to no one’s surprise.

Clutching his left arm with his right, Izuku awkwardly stands.

“I was… I was thinking of… Of…” Izuku stutters his words.

_What do I even say?_

In a moment, chills are sent across Izuku’s spine. His eyes wince ever so slightly and the hair on his arms stand still.

Without even a thought, words spill out of Izuku’s mouth.

“Spider-Man.”

_What._

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I wasn’t thinking of that!” Izuku blabbers out just as suddenly in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks.

_What even as that!_

The hair on Izuku’s arm fall flat – the chill has passed.

His teacher raises an eyebrow in confusion, unsure of why Izuku would suddenly walk back on such a statement. The students around him begin to snicker to themselves, having a hard time trying to avoid laughing from second-hand embarrassment.

“You…were thinking of Spider-Man? Is that a character you thought of yourself?” His teacher retorts, oblivious to the former icon.

Izuku, still flushed bright pink from embarrassment, clutches his left arm with an even stronger grip. Even he is confused as to why he blurted out such a stupid response – and even more so at what even provoked his quirk.

“Y-Yes…” Izuku stomachs the public humiliation, hoping that by agreeing the class can return to Jacobsons’ lecture faster.

“Well, you’ll have to tell me more about him after class. Anyways, carrying on,” the old Doctor responds with, pushing himself off of his desk and returning to his position next to the chalkboard.

Izuku’s face burns with heat, ashamed at having to stay after class.

Granted, this was not his first time – his many, many run-ins with various bullies meant that meetings with the principal or another teacher were always common occurrences in Izuku’s school life, but this was the first time it was, apparently, his fault.

As the snickers and chuckles of his classmates slowly die down and the blood slowly flushes out of Izuku’s face, the teenager turns his focus back towards what’s infront of him.

Looking upwards from the floor, where his eyes had been locked on a particularly large dust bunny, his eyes snag on a classmate to his right.

A young girl with a miraculous mane of long, flowing silver hair sits in one of the front desks, closest to Doctor Jacobsons. An island in the sea of empty desks, Izuku is the only student occupying a desk anywhere remotely close to her – the rest of his classmates have spread themselves far from her.

Having turned to look at Izuku, a pair of light green eyes poke through her strangely red face – as if she too had been blushing with embarrassment - hidden behind her silvery locks. Compared to the burning red hues of her face, her skin accentuates her blush due to its extremely pale complexion as if she had been formed out of the purest snow.

Confused, Izuku furrows his brows, focusing his attention to the girl in front of him and her curious gaze. As if she had been waiting for his glance, she turns towards Izuku after Jacobsons has turned his back to the class, mouthing the word “Sorry” to the bewildered boy.

This only provokes a second, even stronger befuddled reaction within Izuku.

_Sorry? What for?_

With her focus still locked onto Izuku, he tries to mouth a simple response back: “What?”

However, before he can properly enunciate his message, she turns her head, blocking Izuku’s gaze with her long swathes of hair.

Waiting for her to possibly turn her head again proves fruitless as the seconds turn into minutes as Izuku’s emerald-gaze remains locked onto the silvery sheen of her hair.

_Back to arachnids I guess…_

**_Brrrrr-IIIIIINGGGGG_ **

With the ring of the archaic school bell, the class is dismissed. As the rest of Jacobsons students depart from the dusty classroom, Izuku remains, locked in place at his desk in the corner, listening to the dozens of snide jokes and comments made by his classmates regarding him.

Once again, Izuku is the unwilling court jester.

Watching the other students gather their belongings and leave, Izuku notices the mysterious silver-haired girl linger behind the rest of the pack alone, taking her time instead of rushing to leave the dusty classroom. As she leaves the room, Izuku studies the strange girl, still questioning her strange behavior.

Had she always been in this class? If so, how had she not popped up on Izuku’s radar before?

That familiar question rings through Izuku’s mind again, the same question that burnt its way through Izuku’s mind when he first laid eyes on Eraserhead:

_Who are you?_

Looking over her shoulder, her inquisitive green eyes meet Izuku’s. For a moment, they maintain eye contact. To Izuku, her eyes seem… _Sorry._ As if the apology earlier was for something she had caused, not just a simple condolence for his public humiliation. As if he had only gotten into trouble because of…. her?

As he runs the options of “How?” through his head, their moment is cut short by the old Doctor clearing his throat.

Approaching the still-seated Izuku, the heels of Jacobsons shoes click against the worn tiled floor. Turning his head to address his teacher, Izuku can’t help but stare as the man’s serpentine tongue flicks its way out from between his lips.

Gently lifting his bifocals to drag a hand across his aged face, Izuku’s teacher blocks the teenagers view of the door and thus the silver-haired girl. A mystery for another time.

Letting his bifocals fall back into their natural position, Jacobsons coarse voice slithers its way into the air, “So, Izuku, care to tell me about what exactly happened earlier?” His voice is notably more relaxed now that the class has dissipated, the image of a harsh authority vanishing along with it.

“I-I… I’m not sure. Really, sir, I’m not sure at all!” Izuku replies truthfully. He really didn’t have a clue.

Giving Izuku time to amend his response, Jacobsons stands in silence, holding his hand to his lip in a pensive expression.

“It…It was as if I was possessed, as if something washed out of me and I blurted out a random response. I didn’t plan on it I promise! I was just… Lost in thought. You know I’ve had a chaotic week!” Izuku continues, referencing his week of absence brought upon by Kacchan’s funeral and the multitude of events that followed.

“I understand the troubling nature of your last week. I was notified by your mother that a certain health emergency had gotten in the way of your studies,” his teacher responds. Turning from Izuku and pacing towards his desk, he gestures with his left hand as he speaks.

“In fact, this is actually why I wanted to call you over after class. I had noticed your lack of attention and wanted to stir you back onto the right path in class. I simply hadn’t prepared for… your outburst,” He finalizes his statement with. Having finished his path towards his desk, Izuku’s teacher plants his hands against a folder filled with papers.

Grabbing them, he walks towards his students’ seat.

“Sorry for the embarrassment, I simply expected a typical ‘nothing’…” Doctor Jacobsons awkwardly admits under his breath.

“Here you’ll find all of the work you missed during your absence as well as notes to help you accommodate,” his teacher continues. Finished with his analysis, the old Doctor slowly paces back towards his seat at his desk.

“Oh, oh! Thank you… Still, I’m sorry about the outburst, I didn’t mean to…” Izuku continues to apologize. Watching his teachers slow nod in response, Izuku concludes his apology before it became too verbose.

Watching Izuku pack up neatly from his desk, Jacobsons speaks up once more, “And Izuku? If those miscreants make too many jokes about you after today, just let me know. I understand the plight of the high school pariah. I hope I can help.” A shadow of the stern, authoritative Doctor Jacobsons seen in class, this Jacobsons gives off a much different vibe: Warm, wise, and somehow... Tragic.

With other classes to attend to, Izuku can’t give his science teacher any more mind, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he too departs.

“Thank you, sir. Bye,” Izuku says kindly, followed by a wave goodbye.

Closing the door behind him, Izuku enters an empty hallway, the walls packed with old lockers and the floor composed of old pale tiling.

Slowly walking to his next class, Izuku shifts the weight of the bag behind him.

His mind drifts to the image of the girl 

“Sorry.”

_What even was that?_

Pacing through the hall, his mind races with questions and possible answers to what her “Sorry” could have accounted for.

_Was she embarrassed for me? Apologizing that I even got caught in the first place? Was she upset for me?_

With his mind so wrapped dup in hypotheticals, Izuku fails to notice the very woman in question approach him

Suddenly, approaching from outside of Izuku’s line of sight: The silver-haired girl. Her abrupt arrival sends Izuku’s quirk into overdrive, sending familiar shivers and chills up his spine. Approaching from besides a pair of lockers, it’s clear that she’s been waiting for him. 

Dressed in the Musutafu school uniform – a simple black coat matched with a white shirt and black skirt – her snow-white skin and silver hair stands out in contrast with her dark outfit. Shorter than Izuku and with a thin, petite figure, her dainty figure resembles an almost perfect replica of a porcelain doll.

“H-Hey!” She calls out to Izuku with a surprisingly rich yet delicate voice. Craning his head towards her general direction, the hair on the back of his neck continues to stand on end. Stopped in place by her approach, the two stand alone in the empty hallway.

_A-A…. A girl wants to talk to me???_

For all of the traumatic experiences he had endured over the last week, somehow none of them had prepared him for this. He’d talked to Ochaco before, but even then, that couldn’t _really_ qualify as a one on one conversation.

“H-H-Hey…” Izuku’s voice cracks in his desperate attempt to reply.

Standing with an air of confidence, her light green eyes stand out from her seemingly greyscale outfit. 

Maintaining direct eye contact, Izuku struggles to match her conversational pace.

He’s much too shy for this.

“I just wanted to…” She pauses mid-sentence, a notable crack in her self-assured presentation, “To say sorry about what happened in class earlier.”

Izuku furrows his brows in confusion once again.

_Was he right? Did she actually have something to do with that?_

“E-Excuse me?” He asks, the cracking in his voice slowly subsiding as his intrigue only grows.

She breaks eye contact for the first time, instead choosing to dart her eyes suddenly away and peer at the ground.

“Y-Yeah,” She chokes out, placing a hand on the back of her neck. “I… Think I had something to do with your outburst today,” she admits with a deep sigh, returning her gaze to meet Izuku’s.

“How?”

“Well… It’s no secret, so I don’t have anything to worry about but… But just know I didn’t mean to! Not in the slightest, okay?” She cocks her head as she speaks, bobbing her head as if to accentuate certain words.

“Sure? But, what did you have to do with it?”

Briefly, she bites her bottom lip, once again averting Izuku’s gaze.

“It’s… My quirk. I can, well, I give people… bad luck? Like, I accidentally cause things to go wrong for people… Or make them do something they don’t mean to. Like today! With your weird spider joke, whatever that was… Regardless, I think… I think I did that,” she continues, explaining with erratic body movements and a multitude of hand motions.

Izuku simply looks at her with a look of perplexed interest, both in the methodology of her quirk and her as a person.

“And I uh… I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to, sometimes it just… Happens. And I just want to say I’m sorry for that,” She continues, looking up to Izuku with a sincere expression.

Izuku is dumbfounded, at least for a second. Nobody had ever apologized to him for any form of mistreatment. Somehow, it was always his fault, or he should have just grown thicker skin, or he just simply wasn’t worth the effort.

_This was in fact a first._

Her lime green eyes peer upwards at him, waiting for a response.

Noticing her patience, Izuku primes a response.

“Oh! Oh, it’s okay! I’m not upset! Trust me, you’re okay. I’m not upset at all, I’m used to being the butt of a joke anyways, it really is no big deal. I was just… Trying to figure out how your quirk works,” He elaborates.

She looks at him with confusion.

“You’re… Not upset?” She asks.

Izuku looks around, almost as confused as her.

“Why would I be upset?”

This question stuns her. With pursed lips and raised eyebrows, she simply stares at Izuku, baffled by someone _not_ being upset with her.

Izuku looks at her, bewildered at her reaction to his reaction!

The two stand awkwardly in the empty hallway of the Musutafu Prefect Public High School, alone and trapped in a moment of mutual astonishment.

Throughout the hall, the school bell echoes against the faded walls with its usual ring.

**_Brrrrr-IIIIIINGGGGG_ **

Startled, the silver-haired girl and Izuku both jump at the chime of the bell.

“Oh shit!” She exclaims, surprising Izuku with a sudden flash of unexpected vulgarity.

“So sorry to keep you from your class! I have to get going!” She blurts out.

Almost as sudden as she had arrived, she leaves the picture, sprinting away from Izuku in a desperate attempt to save face at whatever class she was now late for.

Bewildered, confused, and certainly startled, Izuku stands completely alone in the school hallway.

The thoughts click in his head of what just happened.

“Crap! I’m late!”

Stomping away, Izuku sprints down the hallway to his next class.


	18. Positives/Negatives

7:00 PM.

Barely a few blocks from his own apartment, Izuku waits outside Kaminari’s house – the designated meeting place. With a bag slung across his back, Izuku stands alone at the entrance to his friends’ home.

With the sun having set no more than an hour prior, the cold nip of a winter’s night sends a multitude of sniffles up Izuku’s nose. Huddled under the cover of the closest streetlight, Izuku clutches his arms for warmth. His casual choice of shorts and a t-shirt was probably not the smartest idea.

Despite his current proximity to a friend’s house, for some reason, he’s uncomfortable. His stomach’s queasy, his throat dry and scratchy, and the hair across his arms refuse to relax from their stiffened position.

Last time he was out here, on these streets, in front of this very house, his night took a _very_ different turn. Hell, his _life_ took a very different turn.

Getting here was difficult, as to reach Kaminari’s house, Izuku had to pass the same alleyway he had encountered that villain on Monday night. The lightpole was still bent in place from the last time he saw it, following that brute’s collision with the steel rod. For the most part however, Izuku tried to keep his gaze averted from its dark depths.

Trying to convince Inko to let him out was herculean by itself, her defenses only collapsing after some clever tugging on her heartstrings and a few desperate pleads to visit his “first real friends”, but now, staring down the strangely imposing doorway of Kaminari’s house, his silver-tongued efforts seemed comparably easy. Izuku didn’t like to lie to his mother, he was always raised to be an honest kid, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Now, standing here without a phone, Izuku had no way to tell Kaminari he was here without going up and knocking. _Knocking._

For all of the confidence he had gained over the last week, it had still only been that: A _week_. Anxiety doesn’t just vanish like that, even if he’d like it too.

The same thoughts loop endlessly in Izuku’s mind:

_Everything changed after I left Kaminari’s house. This is where it all began._

_Will… Will anything happen after I leave again?_

Despite the horrific events of that night, Izuku was still thankful – even if it did come at a cost. It’s because of that night his life had rapidly swerved onto a different path, one that he _might_ be a little bit more okay with. 

Well, once he mustered up the courage to knock on the door, that is.

Letting out a deep sigh, Izuku forces the viscous mixture of fear, anxiety, and over-excitement down his gullet. As his breath trails through the air, it leaves a fine trail of mist.

Shaking his head, Izuku’s fist tightly clenches as he takes the initiative to act.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

 _Even the littlest of victories count_ , he mutters to himself.

_Confidence comes slowly but surely._

Slowly approaching, the cold winter air envelops him, biting at his pale, freckled skin.

 _Should have brought a sweater_ , he glumly admits to himself. 

Izuku gulps.

Rubbing his hands up and down his unprotected arms, he can feel every little raised hair and prickly goosebump.

 _How far am I?_ Looking down, Izuku finds himself only a few mere feet away from Kaminari’s door.

 _When did I pass the halfway mark? This is going by way faster than I thought!_ Izuku considers, amazed at his own ability to walk down a concrete path. Boldly continuing his heroic approach to Kaminari’s front door, a wrench is thrown into his planned finale for this journey: The door opens.

Bathed in yellow porchlight, Kaminari stands, dressed in tight black jeans and a white t-shirt, his already bright hair practically ablaze in the light. A black backpack is slung across his back.

“Yo, Izuku!” His lanky friend waves from the front doorway, unaware of how many of his friend’s daydreams and aspirations he had just crushed. Izuku, stunned, stares blankly forward, every minor bit of momentum sapped from his being. His mouth dangles slightly, slung open from shock. 

Kaminari once again waves, “Yo! Izuku?” His voice cracks with doubt and rising confusion, distressed by Izuku’s statuesque stance. Slowly, without moving a muscle, Izuku shifts his focus from the concrete path to his friend.

Izuku quickly jerks into action, firmly planting his right hand on the back of his head while waving to Kaminari with his left in a desperate attempt to save face.

“Oh, uh, hi Denki! I didn’t expect you to open the door! I thought I’d knock! Y-You know? Yeah!” Izuku’s face quickly reddens.

Kaminari chuckles, “Ya had me worried there for a second Deku! Thought you’d seen a ghost.” He walks towards Izuku, closing the front door behind him. Adjusting the black bag across his back, he walks past Izuku and towards the sidewalk. As he passes by, Kaminari confidently blurts out “Cool shirt!”

Looking down, Izuku studies his choice of shirt. With it's bright neon design of All Might, he must have subliminally chosen it to impress Denki. After all, he too was a fanboy. His body remains rigid, his hand still glued to the back of his head.

Turning around, Kaminari looks at Izuku with an inquisitive expression, “Uh, you good?” 

Quickly catching up to Kaminari, Izuku brushes off the awkward interaction by ignoring any and all possible forms of explanation on his part. At least somewhat accustomed to Izuku’s social ineptitude, Kaminari rolls with it, and the two begin to walk down the street, with Izuku following his friends lead.

“So, everything’s okay? The plan’s still good to go?” Izuku timidly asks, looking up to his friend.

“Oh yeah, no need to worry. Friend of mine owed me a big favor so I had her help me with this,” Kaminari casually explains with a wave of a hand.

“Really?” Izuku asks, amazed that someone would use up a favor to help him.

“Sure thing! You’ll see when we get to UA. Did you bring any cash?”

“Cash?”

“Yeah, for the metro?”

“I thought we were going to work out!”

“We are, we are! Calm down, it’s how we get to UA from here.”

“Oh… No, I didn’t.”

“All good, I brought extra just in case.”

Kaminari looks over his shoulders, searching for anyone else around them. Spotting no one, he elbows Izuku in the arm, “Maybe when you get a bit more used to your quirk, you can get to UA quicker than the Metro! Huh, Spider-Boy?”

Hearing this, Izuku quickly shushes his friend before being met with a coy smirk.

“Don’t worry, I checked! No one else is out here, trust me,” Kaminari replies.

The neighborhood around them is eerily quiet with the cold producing that same eerie fog Izuku had come far too familiar with the Monday before. However, Kaminari’s presence relaxes Izuku – where before Izuku’s footsteps were the only sound that echoed against the walls of concrete and wooden homes, now it’s the pleasant sound of chuckles, laughs, and jokes. Besides, if it got too dark, Kaminari could always provide the light.

“How’d your week go? Can’t imagine trying to study with those funky eyes of yours,” Kaminari asks.

“All things considered, I think it went pretty alright, I think... Could have been much worse. Writing is difficult... Especially when the pencil sticks to my hand. Or the desk… Even worse when it’s the paper I’m trying to write on…” Izuku laments as Kaminari’s expression grows increasingly awkward watching his friend complain about day to day life.

“Sounds like we know what to work on first with your quirk. Everything else good? How’s being at home?” Kaminari follows up with. Izuku’s amazed at the gentle warmth present in Kaminari’s character. Nobody had really bothered to ask him how his week was before besides his mother.

“P-Pretty good too actually, besides, besides maybe the curfew. My mom wants me to go to bed earlier than before, before I usually do, to make sure my body grows used to my quirk or something,” Izuku explains, using plenty of hand gestures to express his frustration. Looking up towards his taller friend, he continues to vent his frustrations, “She made me go to bed at nine last night. That's weird right?”

Kaminari grimaces, his face furrowing inwards on itself, “Oh, that’s rough.”

“And since my phone broke, I can’t even look at anything! No movies, TV shows, can’t even text anyone!” Izuku continues.

“Like you’d text anyone,” Kaminari sneers, eliciting a shy snicker from his freckled friend.

“I mean, I could text you. Or Kirishima. Or Ochaco,” Izuku replies.

Kaminari raises an eyebrow in doubt. A car passes by, its tires scraping across the asphalt of the street.

“Speaking of curfews, what did you mean last time we met? You said you’d explain why your dad makes you stay home after five,” Izuku asks.

“Oh, that? My old man mandates that I be home before five so I can finish all my classwork, once I’m finished I’m allowed back out. Trust me, it’d never get done otherwise. I had a habit of spending my days afterschool at Kirishima’s or Bakugo’s instead of working, even if they were doing their own work,” Kaminari brusquely explains.

“Oh, I see…” Izuku considers, unable to relate. He always did his work on time. Not like he had any distractions otherwise…

“What was it like? Izuku asks. Turning his head to meet Izuku’s gaze, Kaminari looks at his freckled friend with confusion, “Hm?”

“What was it like to go to Bakugo’s house? I hadn’t been… for a couple years,” Izuku stutters out, averting eye contact by keeping his focus on the sidewalk in front of them.

Kaminari goes silent, taking a second to ponder. In a softer tone of voice, he replies, “It was always a little different than going to Kirishima’s house. At Kirishima’s house, it was always loud, there was always something to scream about, be it watching TV, training, or just goofin’ around. At Bakugo’s, we were still loud don’t get me wrong, but we had to be a bit quieter. Didn’t want to set off his parents. And my god, if Bakugo was studying? Kirishima and I practically had to whisper to each other. He was always so frustrated when he wasn’t the number one score in the class.”

Kaminari chuckles as he considers it.

“He’d always get so frustrated when Kirishima and I would peep up. We made it into a game. ‘Set Off the Bomb’ we called it. We’d gradually get louder and louder as we talked until he eventually snapped at one of us. Whoever he snapped at obviously lost. Kirishima always, and I mean always, lost. Kid can’t keep his voice down for the love of him!”

Kirishima and Izuku both laugh at their friend’s expense. As the fog continues to roll in, Izuku is surprised to find himself warm more than anything else. Oh, the magic of company.

“You knew Bakugo for some time, didn’t you Izuku?” Kaminari asks, his eyes burning with a soft sense of curiosity.

Izuku nods, “Yeah, I knew him since before we were ever in school together. Our mothers were old friends from high school and they’d have us go to playdates together. Everything was perfectly fine, we got along really well actually. We used to trade hero cards and share All Might toys. Even after his quirk surfaced and I never developed mine we hung out, even if he was sometimes a little mean to me. For all the mean things he’d go on to call me in junior high, I still respected him. I could sense his drive, his need to be number one. I always respected that, especially when we were kids. He’s the one who came up with my nickname, ‘Deku’.”

Kaminari looks over to Izuku, “You mentioned that before. Bit of a harsh nickname don’t you think? Why’d you respect someone who was so harsh to you? Sounds like he was a little gargoyle as a kid.”

“I suppose so. I always kind of ran with it to be honest. I guess I just thought about how his insults always had to come from somewhere, as if they came from a strange sort of respect as well. He was always jealous that I outscored him on tests, even with his quirk. Respect in his own strange way I suppose,” Izuku explains.

Turning to Kaminari, Izuku notices his blonde friends troubled stare. Locked onto the ground before them, Kaminari’s gaze betrayed his age, sending chills down Izuku’s spine, as if this young man had seen enough to fill a lifetime.

“I didn’t really know Bakugo for too long to be frank. Barely two years. I don’t know if that’s enough time to truly say you’ve become close friends with someone. Like you said, he always had drive, he needed to be number one. I never understood that but I sure as hell respected it. Sometimes that eats away at me, as if I wasn’t enough of a true friend for him, because I didn’t fully understand him. After someone close to you passes, you look back and consider over and over again every little thing you’d tell them, even if you only had a single second to say it. I find myself thinking about that a lot.”

Kaminari stops for a second, his eyes darting around once or twice, reflecting his own internal processing of multiple difficult emotions. Turning to look at Izuku, he finds his friend looking at him with an expression of concern.

Quickly feigning a smile, Kaminari slaps the side of Izuku’s arm with the back of his hand and turns to look behind him.

“Look Izuku, the metro’s right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Real sorry for this late, late update! I know it's been some time but quarantine, finals season, writers block, and a number of other things got in the way before I could work on this. Feels good to be back and I hope you all enjoy!


	19. Training Day

As the metal doors to the slick metro train slid open with a hiss, Izuku found himself in a very different side of town than the one he had grown accustomed to. With one step, Izuku was transported into a land of perfectly painted houses, freshly washed streets, and metro stations that didn’t reek. Before him, much to his own amazement, the clean white walls of the station lacked any sign of vandalism or staining. Fascinated, his emerald eyes dart around his environment, studying its perfection intimately.

Next to him, Kaminari observes his friend’s excitement, chuckling to himself.

“Never been up here?” He asks, his curiosity piqued by Izuku’s marvel at what Kaminari believed to be commonplace.

“I’ve never seen one of these so clean before! The stations I’m used to usually smell like gym socks and vinegar,” Izuku enthusiastically answers, his body shaking with excitement.

“Man, you get excited about the littlest things!” Kaminari jokes, his comment provoking a bashful reaction from Izuku.

“O-oh, sorry… Should I stop?” Izuku asks Kaminari, his voice cracking from embarrassment.

_Oh crap! I blew it!_

“You joking or what? No need to apologize, man! Someone who’s used to the stinkers probably would get excited in a setting like this. You should get a whiff of the station by Ochaco’s house, I shit you not, first time Kirishima and I went, Kirishima almost hurled. Shoulda seen him! Always going off about manliness and there he was, his face turning green!” Kaminari laughs to himself, resting a hand momentarily on Izuku’s shoulder. Imagining Kirishima’s bold face and sharp features bloat into a sickly shade of green forces a chuckle out of Izuku.

With Kaminari’s affirmation having patched up Izuku’s lapses in confidence, the freckled teen relaxes a bit, turning his focus once again towards the world around them. Proceeding towards the escalator ahead, Izuku’s head bustles with curiosity regarding Kaminari and his daily routine.

“You do this every day?” Izuku asks, his focus momentarily taken by a group of businessmen on the opposite escalator. As the men engage in hushed conversation, their spotless suits practically reflect the light around them.

_Look at their outfits! Who knew suits could be so clean!_

“Yep! The morning commute tends to be a little rough. Metro gets so crammed you can practically taste the strangers around you. Compared to that, the evenings are heavenly. Very few come up here after dark,” Kaminari explains, his gaze darting between the peak of the elevator and the inquisitive Izuku.

“I can’t imagine that… I’ve only ever been to public school. The metro I take goes in the opposite direction and with each stop, less and less people get on and more and more get off…” Izuku’s statement trails off. 

“Yeesh,” Kaminari exclaims before biting his tongue, making sure not to poke too much fun at something his friend was clearly insecure about.

The atmosphere now filled by an awkward lull in the conversation, the two boys stand around momentarily.

Izuku shifts the bag on his back.

Kaminari scrunches his face.

Once they reach the top, the two continue forward, their footsteps ringing against the metal floor of the station.

Over the horizon, the looming silhouette of their goal: the esteemed U.A. High School. Situated in the center of a forested hill, the iconic H-shaped building looms over the town of Musufatu, a shining beacon for the citizens below.

Seeing this, Izuku’s entire mood lightens out of the momentary lull, his eyes expanding into bright green twinkling stars. He had seen U.A. before…

In magazines, commercials, and on the news at least.

His mother and him never really had a reason to come up here in the first place, her job was far from the top of town and his school was further down the hill. This place was his dream, his greatest aspiration ever since he was a child, and here he was, about to enter its esteemed premises!

Illegally. But an entrance is still an entrance!

Jaw slung open, eyes wide, and shoulders rolled back, Izuku’s entire figure has been overcome with amazement at the almost mythical silhouette before him. The duo still had some ways to go but even then, Izuku’s own personal wish fulfillment overwhelmed his senses. It was _euphoric_.

“Come on kid, you haven’t seen nothin’ yet,” Kaminari snickers, slapping the side of Izuku’s pale arm with the back of his hand. Leading him forward, Kaminari once again takes the lead, leading him up the steady incline towards the top of the hill U.A. stood on.

“S-So, how do we get in?” Izuku asks, noticing the menacing fortress-style wall surrounding the campus.

“There’s no way I can climb that!” Izuku exclaims, clearly underestimating his own abilities. Hearing this, Kaminari turns around, inspecting the area around him with wide, wary eyes.

“Hush! You’re gonna blow this whole joint! Besides, you don’t have to worry about a thing, I told you, I got it all figured out,” Kaminari asserts, nodding at his friend in order to assuage his concerns. “We’ll just keep going, up the hill, towards the front gate. The gate has a built-in genetic framework, only allows people it recognizes in,” Kaminari continues. Seeing Izuku’s mouth begin to open, ready to express one of his many concerns, he snaps right back into his explanation, just before his friend can ramble on.

“And with that framework, I called in a favor from a friend of mine. She’s good at sneaking into places, practically invisible! So, I gave her a lil’ baggy with one of your prickly green hairs and helped her sneak into the main offices. Bing, bang, boom: You’re in the system,” Kaminari confidently concludes, with plenty of hand motions to sell his own cleverness.

Hearing this, Izuku shuts right up, his many concerns swept to the side.

“You’re lucky I got faith in you kid, I wouldn’t go this out of the way for just anyone,” Kaminari continues. “I knew you were somethin’ different the day we met, you didn’t act like anyone I woulda expected to be a childhood friend of Bakugo. To be honest, you kinda came off as a wimp,” he admits, staring ahead as Izuku trails behind him.

“H-Hey!” Izuku stutters out in reply, unable to refute Kaminari but offended enough to comment.

“Under every normal circumstance, someone like you would just blend into the background, a passerby in someone else's grand story. But after I heard what happened to you, and personally saw what you could do afterwards, my whole perception of you changed. To think, you were so sad about someone you hadn't had a regular conversation with in years already demonstrated your... uniqueness. And now, with your hidden power, with limits we don't even know yet... There’s just something strange about you Izuku,” Kaminari analyzes, his body language uncomfortably rigid compared to his usual electric enthusiasm.

Izuku’s gaze has turned towards the ground, unable to hold his focus on his friend.

“You’re a difficult one to explain, Izuku. Anyways, we’re here!” Kaminari exclaims, turning towards Izuku with a familiar smile across his face.

Before the duo, a great purple wall stands, with light fixtures across the floor pointing upwards, illuminating them from below. An archway stands in the center of the fortified wall with a thick titanium plate in place of where a door usually would be. 

“Fortifications. In case of a villain attack,” Izuku mutters, all too aware of the school’s recent history. Kaminari solemnly nods.

Walking towards the door, the blonde teen lays a palm gently against the metal plating. Turning his head towards Izuku, he raises his eyebrows with confidence, telling him to “Look away for a second.”

**_ZZZZZAAAAPPPP!_ **

Averting his eyes, Izuku hears the ring of electricity against metal before looking up to see the subsiding pulses of golden flashes from Kaminari’s hand. Letting out a brief huff, coupled with a bout of steam, Kaminari’s hair momentarily stands on end before falling delicately across his head.

_Wow._

Shifting in place, the thick metal slab slides harmlessly into the ground. Stepping forward, Kaminari enters the campus. A computer on the opposite side of the gate beeps with a pleasant chime before sounding off Kaminari’s full name, recognizing him as one of U.A.’s many students.

Having crossed with no repercussion, Kaminari looks over his shoulder and beckons his friend with a wave of a hand.

Izuku’s fists are tight and sweaty, clenched firmly around the tips of his cargo shorts. With a huff and a gulp, Izuku takes the step, boldly passing through the gate, his eyes furrowed and closed in preparation for something to go wrong.

He waits, preparing for his hair to stand on end as Arachno-Sensation kicks in. Standing in place, his sweaty fists grip his shorts with an even more constricting clasp.

Opening one eye, Izuku finds himself safely across the gates of U.A. The computer beeps again, now sounding off a name: IZUKU MIDORGA.

Izuku looks at Kaminari, confused.

“Why did it call me Midorga?”

Kaminari sighs, “I think Hagakure misread my handwriting.”

Izuku chuckles and the two proceed into the premises of U.A. High School.

* * *

Now changed into proper work-out clothes, with Izuku in a baggy tangtop and shorts on his scrawny frame and Kaminari in his U.A. provided blue-and-white gym uniform, the two have snuck into the expansive Gym Gamma.

With its industrial interior and wide spaces, as well as its extremely tall ceiling, it was the perfect place to test the limits of Arachno-Sensation. Largely composed of cement, with dozens of tall windows along its perimeter, the “gym” was more of a warehouse than a proper training ground. Above them, a series of old fluorescent lights occasionally flicker, their quivering gleam the only light within the cold building.

Leaning against a concrete wall, Kaminari stretches out one of his legs as Izuku watches on awkwardly. Comparing the two would be apples to oranges: Izuku’s meek demeanor and cheap, stained outfit he scrounged out of his closet contrasted heavily with Kaminari’s booming confidence and well-pressed, intricately designed uniform. The duo came from two different worlds, one that rarely ever overlapped. 

And now, here they were.

Izuku’s excitement towards finally being on the grounds of U.A. had been replaced with a certain unease.

_What if somebody found us? Wouldn’t we get in trouble?_

“Kaminari?” Izuku asks, investigating the wide expanses of this so-called gym.

_This is not what I had in mind when Kaminari said we could train at U.A._

“Mhm,” he murmurs out, preoccupied with his stretches.

“Why did we have to come here? Why couldn’t we do this in any regular ol’ warehouse?” Izuku asks, still standing in place.

Looking over his shoulder, Kaminari continues to stretch as he replies.

“Simple, the law. Say I bring you out to any ol’ warehouse and someone finds us slingin’ quirks out left and right. Both of us would get in _big_ trouble, both for quirk use and trespassing,” Kaminari replies.

“But don’t we risk the same things here?” Izuku continues.

“Not necessarily. I know a few students who linger around after class, usually to train. If you’re a student here, you’re allowed to stay as long as you want,” Kaminari responds, now leaning over himself to touch his toes.

“Then why was the gate locked?” Izuku prods, still confused as to how this is any better.

“Pretty simple as well, once you’re in U.A., you’re in U.A. By sunset they put the gate up to make sure there isn’t any nasty surprises for tomorrow. Basically, once the gates up, there’s no way in but you can always get out. And hey, if any of those lingering students happens upon the two of us, I can say you’re a student from one of the lower divisions like Class C or D. Anybody questions it, technically your names on file, we just have to hope they don’t approach a teacher about it,” Kaminari finishes with a smirk, having thought this all out to a surprising degree.

Looking over his shoulder, Izuku asks one final question: “Is the gate going to go back up?”

Kaminari looks up, finally stumped by one of Izuku’s questions, “Hm?”

“I mean, the gate. When you shocked it, it was stuck open. I-Is that supposed to happen?”

Kaminari smirks, “Oh, ha! Nah kid, don’t worry! I just temporarily short circuited it, forcing the gate open and allowing the computer to recognize us. It’ll close once my excess electricity passes through its circuit.”

Izuku nods, his concerns washed away by Kaminari’s astute awareness.

_As much as he claims to be a ditz, his strategy is surprisingly sound!_

“So, uh, what should we do first?” Izuku asks, gripping his left arm with his right. The white tangtop hangs loosely on his skinny body.

“Well, we’ll work on all of _that_ soon enough,” Kaminari says, pointing to Izuku’s body with a sneer, “but tonight, we need to figure out what you can do. Luckily, based on our interaction on Tuesday, we have an idea of what to test! And, with this concrete, your grip won’t be tearing anything up… Hopefully.”

As Kaminari speaks, Izuku inspects the palms of his hands and the spinnerets that poke out from his wrists, nodding once his friend finishes demonstrating his work-out plan.

“Here, come over here,” Kaminari follows up his plan with, jogging over to the closest concrete wall. Izuku follows along, jogging towards the wall.

Next to the wall, Kaminari inspects it, knocking on its concrete supports in order to assert its strength. Behind him, Izuku watches on before his mind is once again consumed by another question.

“Kaminari,” Izuku comments, prompting a response from his lanky friend.

“Yeah?” Kaminari responds, turning his golden eyes towards Izuku instead of the grey wall before them.

“How is this a gym?” Izuku asks, confused by the seeming waste of space that was Gym Gamma.

“Jeez kid, you’re filled with questions today. It’s a special gym, meant to train quirks. Usually Cementoss would be here and he’d manipulate the concrete to serve a function, help us practice. He ain’t here, so right now, it’s just a cement building,” Kaminari explains, returning his attention towards the wall.

“Huh… Cementoss,” Izuku mutters to himself, realizing just how many professionals really are attached to the legendary school. He always knew it was a big deal but to regularly encounter heroes like Cementoss? Even Eraserhead used to be a teacher here. _Used_ to.

_Wonder what happened to make him lose his job…_

“Alright Izuku, I’m gonna have to cut you off before you ask another question. We came here for a reason other than conversation. Now, we start to train,” Kaminari declares, clenching his hand into a fist.

Izuku gulps.

“And what does that mean?” Izuku asks, unsure of how Kaminari wants to start this all off.

“You did your stretches, right?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Alright, I want you to start by climbing this wall!” Kaminari pronounces, pulling his clenched fist towards his body.

Looking upwards, Izuku scans the height of the wall.

_Forty, maybe even fifty feet tall… Am I ready for this?_

Izuku’s legs tremble. He slowly leans down, crouching closer to the floor.

_I barely even survived last night!_

Reluctantly, he prepares himself, as if waiting for the gunshot at the start of a race. Izuku’s fist clenches.

_B-But…_

His eyes burn as he stares intently at the wall. His fingers graze the cold floor.

_I survived._

Kaminari watches him patiently, his eyes focused like a predator on its prey.

_What did Eraserhead say?_

Sweat drips down Izuku’s brow. His hair stands on end.

_“You act with the heart of a hero.”_

Izuku gulps down his anxieties.

With an explosive start, Izuku bounds from his position with surprising power. Kaminari’s hair is blown back, startled by his friend speed.

Leaping through the air, Izuku reaches his arms out, aiming open palms at the incoming pillar. With a thud, his body strikes the pillar, his fingertips gripping the smooth surface with a tactile grasp.

_O-Okay. I did it! I’m climbing the wall._

Looking down, Izuku is surprised to find that his friend is much lower than he thought.

_D-Did I leap that far up?_

With Kaminari at least ten feet below him, Izuku turns his focus towards the wall before him.

“Hell yeah, Izuku!” Kaminari exclaims, throwing his clenched fist into the air, his shrill voice echoing through the empty building.

Reaching out with an empty palm, Izuku tries his hand at climbing the pillar. Feeling the tips of his fingers clutch to the smooth surface, he pulls himself up with one arm. Pulling himself up, he reaches out with the other hand, creating a consistent crawl up the wall.

Firmly stuck to the wall, his feet skitter against the concrete, unable to clutch to the wall like his fingers. With his legs dangling below him uselessly, Izuku’s balance is uneven, making each successful creep exceedingly difficult.

“Yo, Izuku! Your feet can grasp right? Ya gotta get your shoes off!” Kaminari recommends, cupping his mouth in order to yell.

“O-Okay,” Izuku stutters out, amazed that he’s still attached to the wall. Pulling one hand off of the wall, he reaches out and awkwardly rolls over, turning his back to the wall and his face towards Kaminari. With his hands firmly planted against the wall stitll, he looks down and finds Kaminari smiling at him from below.

“You’re doing great!” His blonde friend calls out.

Responding with a awkward half-smile, with his focus being on his grip, Izuku nods. Looking down, he inspects his current elevation and his dangling legs.

About twenty feet up, his double-knotted shoes would prove difficult to remove.

_Maybe I should just leap do-_

“Hey! New workout idea! Try to untie your shoes from up there!” Kaminari calls out, flashing Izuku an enthusiastic thumbs up.

_Oh. Okay._

Izuku nods, uncertain about what he just accepted.

Pulling his right hand off of the wall, Izuku pulls his right leg closer to his body, propping himself up with the sole of his shoe. Slowly guiding his hand towards the worn shoelaces of his tennis shoes, his fingers slip into the rabbit-ears of the knot.

Gently tugging on it, he struggles to dexterously move his fingers while also keeping his balance and grip on the wall. The first ear gives but the knot remains.

He bites his lip.

Kaminari watches him with a smile.

Tugging, pulling, and twisting, Izuku uses all his might to slowly undo the heavy-duty knot he had prepared himself with. Gently, he slips his right shoe off, sending it careening to the floor below.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Izuku plants both of his arms and now his right foot against the concrete pillar. Taking a second, he didn’t realize how just this little act could be so tiring. _Already_ his muscles are beginning to ache.

_Oh well… Practice makes perfect._

“Come on! Don’t stop there! You have on more to go!” Kaminari calls out, a benevolently ignorant coach.

Groaning, Izuku reached out, pulling his left hand off of the wall to now attempt removing his left shoe. As he leans forward, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, sending shivers down his spine. His right hand comes undone from its grip, and looking down, finds that his right foot still has its sock on.

Suddenly, Izuku is falling.

Careening towards the ground, Izuku mindlessly stares at the incoming concrete floor. Impulsively, he whips a hand out, snapping a web towards the ceiling.

**_THWIP!_ **

One second. Two seconds.

Moments before he collides with the quickly incoming ground, the web attaches to the ceiling. Yanking it, he pulls himself towards the ceiling, swinging past Kaminari like a pendulum.

Clanging against the ceiling, Izuku clutches the ceiling with his grip, now pulling off his sock and letting it fall to floor. His left shoe remains on.

Confused, Kaminari turns towards his friends’ new position. Behind him, Kaminari hears something.

A door opening.

Footsteps.

Someone’s approaching.

Turning towards the sound, Kaminari looks and finds a familiar face.

At the entrance of Gamma Gym, in a similar blue-and-white gym uniform as Kaminari’s, a lithe figure stands.

Tall, lean, and toned, a boy of Kaminari’s age looks at the blonde boy with two different eyes. Transitioning between red and white, his hair falls flatly against his head. Across the left side of his face, an expansive, red burn mark.

“Oh… Todoroki,” Kaminari stammers.


	20. Toshi

_I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this._

Aizawa, concealed by a characteristically dark outfit, marches through the busy nightlife of Japan, his face obscured from the passing crowds by his inky black hair. Matched with a dark sweatshirt and leather combat boots, his silhouette practically vanishes into the shadows. That was the plan anyways.

The flashing neon lights of convenience stores, nightclubs, and late-night restaurants send a rainbow of hues across his face. The aromas of alcohol, cooking meat, and piss on the sidewalk mix into a caustic combination of scents. Although Aizawa preferred to operate at night, he could never get over just how much it _stank_.

Holding his hands tightly in his pockets, his nose throbbed with irritation. The split in his nose, a nasty wound sustained in his fight earlier that week, already stung enough - the lovely potpourri of late-night Japan only made it worse. 

Under his sweatshirt, his golden goggles bounce against the restraining bond tightly wound around his abdomen. With his regular support equipment hidden behind such a casual outfit, it’s clear that not only was he prepared to dive into the shadows but also to throw a few punches if necessary.

Matching his dark outfit with an antsy demeanor, Aizawa comes off as less of a former hero and more of the shifty individual mothers warn their kids about. He didn’t care – he knew he had to be prepared.

Running the options through his head, his tired eyes scour the streets.

Snapping between points of focus at a breakneck pace, his eyes dart around the street, studying every nook and cranny. His focused but edgy mannerisms isolate him from the crowd of blissful drunkards and late-night partyers surrounding him. A lone crusader in a sea of hapless citizens.

As a mob of twentysomething men pass by, mindlessly showcasing their vast array of quirks, Aizawa is reminded of his past – and more than a few memories he had tried to forget.

Their senseless ramblings fill the air. They’re much too loud to ignrore, breaking Aizawa’s focus. With blue-red fireworks sizzling by overhead, shot from the fingertips of an inebriated young man, even more colors are added to the already overwhelmingly vibrant display of bar signs, convenience stores, and night-owl clerks.

_How could anyone sleep out here?_

Only a few months ago, Aizawa would have given those men a citation, fining them for unlawful quirk usage. Now? Aizawa passes by them harmlessly, keeping his bloodshot eyes focused on the path before him.

_It wouldn’t be rational to intervene._

Turning his gaze past the parade of drinker, past the raucous laughter and shouting of blistering drunks, his attention is caught onto an alleyway between two buildings. Inside, obscured by the shadows of the surrounding buildings, a man wheezes, clawing at his chest as the other clutches to the side of a building.

_Is he hurt?_

Aizawa stops on the fringe of the street, approaching the man cautiously.

Slowly and carefully, he approaches, keeping his feet light in preparation for an ambush.

His last encounter in an alley left him with a pretty nasty split in his nose after all.

Wheezing with every breath, the man continuously chokes.

Only feet away, Aizawa prepares to act, ready to intervene before…

**_HYURK._ **

The man vomits, spewing out an ungodly mess of alcohol and chunks of food across the asphalt.

Immediately halting his approach, briefly stunned, Aizawa watches the man hurl up a second batch of stomach contents. Shaking his head, he turns his back on the man, resuming his march.

_You’re that damn rusty, huh? Can’t even recognize a drunk… Everything has to be a life or death emergency nowadays. Perhaps being a teacher limited me in more ways than I thought…_

He lets out a brief sigh, turning his gaze towards the ground before him.

His mind races to his deal with Izuku.

_What have I done?_

_How can I be a good teacher if I keep making such rookie mistakes?_

The kid had surprised Aizawa. In one night, he showed more heart than most students he taught at UA. Hell, maybe even more heart than some professionals.

_Maybe even more heart than the current number one…_

With each step, his steel-toed boots clack against the sidewalk, just another indication that Aizawa didn’t come here in peace.

It’d been a long, long time since he’d walked these streets - the last time he was here was long before he was a hero, back during his adolescence.

Long before any official certifications.

Each step dredges back old memories, each clack of his boots digging up old visions of himself. Playing over and over in his head again, like a broken record, the stale images of a kid in over his head, a rookie staring into the criminal underbelly of a very different Japan.

It terrifies him now just as much as it did then. Especially after what happened to Oboro…

He was just a kid looking to do some good in this world, with or without a license, even after he saw the ugliness that lurked underneath day to day life.

_Just like Izuku._

His palms tighten in on themselves. Taking a breath, he refocuses his attention on the setting around him.

_It should be around here. It’d be a goddamn miracle if it’s gone untouched…_

Like spotlights, his bloodshot eyes bounce between the various concrete and brick faces of the many industrial buildings lining the street. He meticulously analyzes each and every neon sign to the fullest.

Internally, his stomach twirls in on itself from anxiety.

_I shouldn’t be here. It’s been too long._

It’d been at least a decade, almost two even. He was so young then, so naïve.

He lets out a deep breath. His experience as a hero had steeled his resolve since then, he’d dealt with worse before. Nothing to fear…

Hopefully.

His guts twist in on itself from uncertainty. Even he couldn’t predict how this would all go. He just had to take a leap of faith.

_She has a way to get under your skin, you know that well enough. Go in, get the job done, get out. That’s all you have to do._

_You have to._

Aizawa clenches his fist, running the game plan by himself again. His teeth gnash, his face scrunching up as he runs through the plan a second time.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

His nose stings. His eyes burn. His face is wrinkled and tired.

_This is just another day in the life of Shouta Aizawa. Don’t act like it’s any different._

_Just. Be. Rational._

Gulping down his anxieties, his eyes land on a sign so simple it stands out from the ugly mix of halogen lamps and flashing neon lights.

Completely wooden and minimalist in its design, the simple sign dangles limply off the side of the obscure corner shop. The worn, wooden kanji reads: “Toshi’s Radio Shop”.

Aizawa stops in his tracks, eyes locked on the humble shop.

A chill travels up his spine.

For all his experience, he never felt prepared for anything like this.

Gulping down his anxieties, he continues his approach, making his way through the scattered gatherings of late-night drinkers.

The corner shop is antiquated and old, packed deep into the corner of the busy street. Hidden from view, the building is a remnant from a different time, obscured behind the shadows of buildings much taller than it. Dangling from its roof, windchimes slowly sway back and forth, their gentle ringing drowned out by the raucous street life. To the trained eye, the shops humble appearance makes it stand out far more than any neon sign or vibrant color display.

It was all that remained of a bygone age.

With his heart practically in his throat, every one of Aizawa’s senses had kicked into hyperdrive.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

The sound of his boots against the concrete sidewalk completely drown out the world around him, their only accompaniment being the sounds of his deep, labored breathing and the delicate twinkle of the windchimes ahead.

Aizawa had faced a multitude of villains over his lengthy career but few things could scare him as much as what that corner shop contained.

There was no monster, no supervillain hiding a trick up their sleeve, barely anything nefarious at all. All that lurked within its wooden walls was the past: the man Shouta Aizawa _used_ to be.

A man who had lost everything, and in his desperation, turned to the wooden shop on the corner of a busy street. 

And now here he was, returning to that same shop once again.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Passing by the murmured whistle of the windchimes, Aizawa reaches a hand out and grasps the worn wooden handle of the shop’s front door. He didn’t need any neon sign to indicate if the shop was open or closed - it’s _always_ been open.

Pushing inwards, he closes his eyes as he steps into the shop. Above him, a small bell rings.

A visitor.

Without a flinch, he steps inside.

The interior of the building is dark and musty with practically every surface made up of some form of wood. Its age is visible through the mismatched styles and cuts of wood - obvious indicators of rushed patchwork or attempts to fix broken boards with whatever was around. Rows of retrofit, vintage, and modern radios line the stands of the shop, most coated in a thick layer of dust. In the corner, an old TV is latched to the wall, angled down towards the entrance, its screen occupied by a thick layer of static.

Standing at the mouth of the doorway, Aizawa inspects the archaic interior of the building. Closing the door behind him, the wood creaks with every movement before it finally shuts.

_One more creak and I swore this whole place was going to come crashing down._

As the door closes behind him, a thick layer of dust is sent careening through the air before slowly settling on its new home: Aizawa’s head and shoulders.

Aggravated, Aizawa sighs, sending even more dust into the air. The shop was incredibly stuffy and the ever-growing atmosphere of dust was only making it worse.

_You couldn’t have dusted the place? Forget any villains, this place is already a deathtrap._

Beyond the soft crackle of the TV static, the shop is completely silent, offering Aizawa a chance to sit back and listen closely for anything out of the usual. Anything at all…

Studying the wooden walls surrounding the collection of vintage radios, he runs himself through the wide list of possible traps rigged within the shop.

_There could be a tripwire there or maybe a hidden sensor. That’d be the perfect spot to lay out some caltrops… And watch out for that corner, who knows what kind of ambushes could be prepared from there._

_Hell, if she’s as bold as she used to be, there could even be a beartrap somewhere around here._

After meticulous analysis, Aizawa continues further into the building, keeping wary of the many possible traps he considered. However, despite his best efforts, each of his steps spring a symphony of creaks and groans from the wood below him.

_Maybe these boots weren’t the best for this situation… Or maybe this place really is that old._

Despite his lithe build, the groaning songs the wooden floor have prepared would trick anyone into thinking Aizawa was a beast of a man.

Sliding a clenched fist from his pocket, he pulls his hood down, revealing his bandaged face. He had no reason to worry, this place never had security cameras when he was younger, hardly a chance they’d have them now.

Aizawa gives a passing glance towards the wares behind the countertop: Busted gadgets and old tech from at least two generations ago. He was more focused on how quiet it was inside the shop anyways.

_Perhaps it was too quiet…_

Looking around, the restraining bond underneath his sleeves tighten, his body more prepared than ever for a possible ambush.

After a routine scan of his immediate surroundings prove useless, he turns his focus to the countertop before him. Wrapping the restraining bond around his fingers, Aizawa drags it down the dusty glass, revealing an empty interior. As his eyes shift focus from the interior of the counter to the glass of the countertop, the reflected image of his burning eyes lies front and center.

Leering at him through the small gaps he made on the dusty glass, the reflections crimson gaze matches his own.

For a moment, he could even be convinced that the gaze _wasn’t_ his own.

That the eyes staring back at him was a different Shouta Aizawa.

Resting his fingertips against the glass, the restraining bond relaxing into a slack, Aizawa turns his full focus towards the reflection. His soul-stripping glare seemed so strange.

It seemed so alien. So… heartless.

_Is this what everyone else sees?_

Momentarily distracted, his bare fingertips rest against the glass as the restraining bond continues to loosen around his arms.

Suddenly, from further within the building, a clicking sound. Then another. Repeating in a rhythmic fashion, the sound seems to be approaching.

Twisting his head in reaction to the sound, he steps back from the counter and crouches down next to one of the many wooden shelves.

_Damn it, I got so wrapped up in my reflection I lost focus. God, you’re so rusty…_

With his back pushed against the wooden shelf, Aizawa cranes his neck in order to listen intently to whatever was approaching.

Keeping his body stiff, Aizawa clutches the shelf tightly, giving his full attention to his hearing.

The clicking comes to a stop.

Aizawa remains tense.

Following the momentary pause, the accompanying groan of a door being opened alerts Aizawa that he is no longer alone in the building. Perhaps he never was.

Footsteps.

Aizawa’s body tightens in preparation for anything, his clutch on the shelf increasing, his fingernails practically digging into the worn wood. His restraining bond tightens around his hand, ready to be lashed out at a moment’s notice.

More footsteps.

Approaching Aizawa’s direction, the footsteps are muffled behind the continuous creaking of wood.

_Damn this place for being so old! This creaking will only make things more difficult!_

Aizawa pauses and closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath in order to clear his mind. Once again turning his attention towards listening, he considers his options.

_They can’t be that big, especially if the creaking of wood can muffle their approach so effectively. Perhaps a stealth quirk? Or a lighter build… I can still hear their steps however, so they must not know I’m here._

_That, or it’s a trap._

Sliding the bond further up his arm, he grips the edge tightly, ready to lash out…

_They’re getting closer…_

The creaking grows louder as they approach. The wood beneath them groans in an aged pain.

_Any moment now…_

Coming to a sudden stop, the footsteps cease in their approach. Ready for anything, Aizawa clutches the bond, making sure to hold his breath. Taking this moment of reprieve, Aizawa dives out from behind the wooden shelve, snapping his arm forward and sending the restraining bond flying through the air.

**_CRACK!_ **

The carbon fiber bond smashes through the glass countertop, much to Aizawa’s surprise. Crouched and close to the ground, Aizawa turns his head, his gaze unceremoniously met by a pair of worn black stilettos.

Turning his gaze upwards, Aizawa’s eyes lock onto the disappointed stare of a middle-aged woman. Crossing her arms into the rolled-up sleeves of her wrinkled white shirt, her matching pencil skirt and stilettos imply that, at one point, she was someone of esteem. Her wiry black hair falls delicately in front of one of her brown eyes, paving a frizzy path towards a face speckled with a mix of old freckles and wrinkles. Her tattered appearance, paired with her fragrant perfume of cigarette ash and sake, represent how such a mighty woman had fallen.

“Shouta”, her flat voice rings out, cutting through the palpable silence of the wooden shop.

Aizawa pushes himself up from the ground, looking down at the woman.

_She’s much shorter than I remembered._

Barely reaching five-feet, the exasperated woman turns her contemptible gaze upwards to meet Aizawa’s eyeline.

Taking a deep breath, Aizawa greets the woman.

“Hello, Toshi,” He nods, “It’s been some time.”

Leaning against the glass counter, keeping her arms crossed, Toshi cranes her head back. Her casual demeanor, even while facing down someone like the esteemed Eraserhead, could send a chill down anyone’s spine.

“You’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” she comments, measuring Aizawa up.

“Well, it’s been some time since the last time we’ve met,” Aizawa replies, turning his head to instead look at the floor.

“And why is that?” Toshi replies, keeping her face as still as possible.

“I was certified. I had more ‘official’ sources of support,” Aizawa mutters under his breath.

“Sure, you received your credentials. That didn’t mean you had to stop coming by however,” she responds. Aizawa’s gut twists in on itself.

He knew she was right. He could have stopped by at any time.

“If I came by, you know what I’d have to do,” he replies, still refusing to meet her eyeline.

“Oh Shouta… Always the hero,” Toshi turns her head and steps away from the counter. Her stilettos click with each step as she walks away from Aizawa.

“You know I’d have to. You _know_ it,” he pleads.

She stops in her tracks.

Turning back towards him, her approach is fiery and spirited, with each clack of her stilettos carrying enough rage to burn a house down. Her face, however, remains as cool as ever.

“You never used to be _such_ a shill-in! Such a watchdog! You used to _hate_ them!” She exclaims, her words enunciated with biting precision. Saliva dribbles from her lip as her brows furrow, an expression of disgust.

Aizawa turns his gaze back towards the floor. For a second, an awkward silence bubbles up inside the shop.

“Shouta… You used to come by every day for years,” she comments, the sentence hissing out of her lips as an exasperated whisper.

Aizawa can’t bear to look at her. As his eyes slowly study the derelict shop, old images of himself as a teenager slowly fade in. 

“Even when you had nothing, you still came here,” she continues. Aizawa watches a much younger version of himself try out gadgets as a much younger Toshi watches from the countertop.

“We all did our best to help you, to support you,” she passionately exclaims, all while Aizawa watches himself sit atop the countertop, alone, fiddling with his golden goggles.

“We all _loved_ you!”

As the younger Aizawa wipes away tears from his eyes, goggles in hand, he looks up with surprise to find Toshi bringing him a hot cop of cocoa. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she nods, before leaving him to his thoughts.

Turning his focus back to Toshi, Aizawa nods slowly, his inky black hair bobbing with his movements.

“I know. And I betrayed that love, that trust, as soon as I could. And for that, I am eternally sorry,” Aizawa softly apologizes, “I thought that, as soon as I got my certifications, I could leave everything I had done behind me. As if that past, that history, was nothing – just something to be expunged.”

Aizawa keeps his eyes locked on hers as he apologizes. Tears bubble up in her eyes as he speaks.

“I know it’s been far too long. I kept pushing it off, every time I’d try I’d scare myself thinking about how upset you’d all be at me. How upset _you’d_ be at me. And so, I kept pushing it back again and again, until... well until this I guess,” Aizawa explains, gesturing softly with his hands.

“Shouta, you were like a son to me,” Toshi responds, her voice cracking from sadness.

“I know,” Aizawa replies, standing defeated.

“I’ve waited so long for you to come back…” Toshi mutters.

“And now I’m not even sure if I want you back,” she admits, hanging her head in sorrow.

Her reply sends knives into Aizawa. He looks away, hiding his reaction from her.

“I just… I never expected you of all people to do this to someone, Shouta,” Toshi continues.

“You of all people, you who were thrown out time and time again. You who could never find a place to stay. The kid who was forsaken by their parents… You of all people should have been the first person to _not_ run out on someone!” Toshi builds up, her voice exploding by the end of her emotional outburst.

Toshi sobs. Her tears fall in droves across the dusty wooden floor beneath her. With a wobbling turn, she adjusts herself to face away from Aizawa.

Hanging his head in sorrow, Aizawa’s eyes similarily bubble with tears.

“Toshi,” He calls out, obscured behind his hair.

“I know where I went wrong. I know I made mistakes. But I’m here to rectify them, even if it took far too long to get here. It was my mistake to think I’d never have to come back here, that I could go on without this. I always assumed that once I was certified, once I was a hero, I’d never have to return to the lifestyle I once had. Now look at me. Disheveled, broken, and alone. Alone because of my mistake – my greatest mistake. I forsook all of you, for what? A legacy of dirt?”

Toshi doesn’t budge.

“Toshi, I’ve known my own faults for far too long. You know this better than anyone. You know how I can be – I can run headstrong into any fight, but the moment it’s my own fault, that the threat before me isn’t a villain but something of my own doing, or worse, _myself_ , I break down. I’m terrified, Toshi,” Aizawa admits, his voice cracking with each word.

Slumping against the counter, Aizawa holds himself against the glass countertop with a hand.

“Two kids died under my watch. Two good, honest kids,” Aizawa continues, his back slowly sliding against the glass towards the floor below.

Looking up towards Toshi, who has now turned to face Aizawa, tears stream from his burning eyes.

“When they brought me into the morgue, all I could see in their faces was Oboru,” Aizawa chokes out. Seeing this, Toshi rushes towards the crumpled man, throwing her arms around his neck.

Aizawa’s golden goggles thump against his chest as his heart beats.

Pulling Toshi closer, he sobs into her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for having this take so long! My summer internship definitely got in the way of my writing so this has been on the back burner for a couple months now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for coming this far everyone! Hope you enjoy!


End file.
